Moments in Time: Brief Encounters
by nomibubs
Summary: Their surprising friendship didn't happen over night. This is a series of shorts rolled into one fic to highlight those major instances that allowed mage Hawke and Fenris's relationship to grow from loathing into trust. Bait&Switch onwards.
1. Unmet Expectations Prologue

Moments in Time: Brief Encounters: Prologue

Unmet expectations

Hawke shouldered her way through the mansion's front door and out into the warm night. She was alone in her search, but didn't care she was too angry. Pausing to scan her surroundings, she took a moment to enjoy the freshness of the air. It was truly welcome after the physical onslaught just endured. The thinness of the Veil inside the mansion had left her feeling heady.

Hawke saw him then - _though Maker knows how_ - crouched in the shadows of the public garden not far away. He would have been totally invisible clad in his strange dark armour, but his shock of white hair kept catching the moonlight. His back was to her as he leaned forward, obviously labouring over something. She made toward him, swiftly realising that he was attempting to clean his sword in the garden's ornate pond.

"Fenris?" she asked, keeping her tone diplomatic in spite of her annoyance. His head turned fractionally toward her, but that was the only response he gave - unless she were to acknowledge the audible growl. He reached into his belt pack retrieving a rough piece of cloth and tried to wipe the remaining ichor from his blade, cursing continuously under his breath as the substance refused to budge. Hawke folded her arms across her chest and waited.

A few more heated words later and Fenris gave up on his sword altogether. With practised ease he hefted it over his shoulder and slid it back into the sheath strapped to his back. He looked at his hands then, also covered in the same sticky residue, and set about trying to clean them instead. When he finally stood up, deigning to look at her as he shook them dry, Hawke arched her eyebrows at him questioningly.

His responding black look said it all, though she had to admit, it wasn't anything in comparison to the outraged expression she had already earned from him, witnessing her powers for what she realised now, had been the first time. The memory of _that_ look was likely to stay with her for life.

Could she help that her being a mage wasn't immediately obvious?

Well, yes, but having spent her life thus far pretending and hiding what she was from the world, acknowledging her abilities openly went somewhat against the grain.

Still, in her eagerness to help him, she hadn't fully grasped the obvious importance of such an admission given the circumstance. _He's an escaped slave for Maker's sake, the lost property of a powerful Magister. How could I have been so stupid?_ Now, it was too late. To make matters worse, Fenris's momentary distraction with her in the heat of battle had allowed a demon to claw at his flank and tear open his arm.

The poultice he'd applied – having ignored Hawke's offer to heal it for him - appeared sound at least. No doubt he'd had plenty of practise applying them prior to this evening. Maker only knew what he'd been through. Hawke swiftly reined in her compassionate nature, reminding herself of how Fenris had pissed her off. _If he'd been minding his surroundings rather than staring furiously at me like I'd betrayed him in the worst possible manner the damn poultice wouldn't have been necessary. _She stubbornly wondered if she shouldn't just heal his arm anyway.

_What's he going to do, run me through?_ She laughed inwardly, and swiftly thought,_Yes, that's exactly what he'll do if I give him the slightest reason, which healing him without permission might just qualify as._ She really didn't want to be on the receiving end of that punching thing he could do either. She winced at the thought, her hand reflexively covering her chest - like it would make a difference.

He shifted his weight, clearly uneasy under her prolonged gaze. The part of her that was confused and irritated by his profound contempt found the reaction quite satisfying. Bitten by a sudden need to show how un-intimidated she was by his dark, forbidding presence - whether true or not - Hawke leaned past him, kneeling down at the water's edge and dappled the clear surface with her fingers. Her eyes never left his reflection.

He remained still and watchful, perhaps wondering at her sanity for putting herself in such a vulnerable position. Certainly, if running her through was what he intended he'd have no difficulty. Thankfully, that didn't appear to be the plan - yet.

"Venhedis," Fenris snarled suddenly. It sounded like swear, though Hawke couldn't be sure as she cursed herself for jumping, hoping he hadn't noticed. "It never ends."

She righted herself, trying to exude an air of confidence as she looked at him; briefly captivated by the tattoo-like markings over his hands glowing faintly as he tugged his clawed gauntlets back on.

"I escaped a land of dark magic, only to have it hunt me at every turn. It is a plague burned into my flesh and my soul, and now…" Fenris's elven eyes bored into hers and the intensity of his loathing stole Hawke's breath away, "I find myself in the company of yet another _mage_."

Her heart thumped too awkwardly to respond at first, fearing for its continued existence.

"I should have realised sooner," he said, berating himself as he turned away.

Hawke's eyes narrowed. "You sound as if I set out to intentionally mislead you. I did not," she declared, finding her voice. "If you formed an opinion without any real information, how can I be to blame if my being a mage comes as a surprise to you?"

He gestured angrily, waving away her words. "But what manner of mage are you?" he questioned. "What do you seek?"

"Why should anything beyond me willingly aiding you tonight be important?"

"Because of what you are," he growled, pacing animatedly; obviously feeling such a statement was enough explanation.

"And, you evidently have an issue with that," Hawke replied.

"I have an issue with magic and those who are careless with it."

"As do I," she agreed, ignoring the way Fenris scoffed in disbelief. "I would hope, though shocking as my use of magic has obviously been to you, that I have not come across as careless. I certainly don't remember you objecting too strenuously… whilst we were fighting at any rate."

Fenris paused and looked at her again, for longer this time, searchingly. "You are skilled, that much is clear," he conceded grudgingly, shaking his head like such an idea was either preposterous or disturbing in the extreme. _Probably both,_ Hawke thought.

"A fine concession, but you say as much, and yet, won't let me heal you." She gestured to his injured arm. "Does magic not have its uses to you, at least in that respect?"

"I'm not blind," he answered coldly.

Hawke took a tentative step closer. Instantly he moved to keep the distance between them.

"You recoil from me like I'm no better than a demon myself." Fenris scowled at her. "That's actually what you think, isn't it?" Hawke surmised, the realisation cutting deeper than she thought possible. "Well, how stupid of me for thinking my helping you tonight might have gone some way to earning a new ally." She lifted her hands in exasperation. "Would it have made any difference if I'd worn a 'look out, I'm a mage, demon possession imminent' sign?"

Fenris stared at her incredulously. She knew it had been a petulant thing to say, but couldn't help it, and she was almost certain she'd seen a flicker of amusement cross over his stony, annoyingly handsome, face.

With a frustrated sigh, Hawke rested her hands on her hips and looked skyward. "Magic is only as dark as its user, as is the way with any other weapon, steel or otherwise."

"Easily said," Fenris countered.

"You really think so?" she asked, not looking at him.

"At least I may put my sword down."

Hawke closed her eyes thoughtfully. "Your experience of other mages must have been truly terrible."

"My _experience _has been… extensive," Fenris growled, "but it's of no consequence. I don't need your pity, _mage_."

"My name is Hawke, if you've forgotten," she reminded, irritably, "and I don't pity you Fenris. Maker, I wouldn't know how to, not that I'm incapable, but it's my understanding that such feelings are best reserved for the helpless, and you are anything but."

"Hawke!?"

Both of them looked up to see Varric and Carver emerging from the overgrown mansion doorway looking thoroughly shattered and loaded down with what loot they'd been able to find. Though Fenris had told them to do so, something in the sight made Hawke really wished they hadn't.

"Here, Varric!" she responded, waving to draw his attention.

"Just needed some air, too, I see," Varric chuckled, venturing over. Hawke half smiled, uncertain. "Everything okay?" he asked, his eyes lingering on where Fenris now leant back against a far wall, a picture of 'brooding' nonchalance.

"No, I don't think it is," Hawke answered truthfully. "Can you give me a minute?"

Varric nodded and made to leave, but Carver had no such inclination. Instead, he pushed passed her, parading toward Fenris in a manner that would have shamed a cockerel. "If you have a problem with my sister, then you have a problem with me," he stated, and Hawke grimaced. Fenris couldn't have looked less concerned by the threat her brother posed, appearing almost bored as he loosely folded his arms across his chest. His quiet confidence filled Hawke with dread.

"Enough, Carver," she said, jumping in front of her brother and pushing him back. "Stand down," she ordered, returning his resulting scowl with one of her own. "Please, just… _don't_."

He shrugged away from her touch, his pride taking another hit from her apparent over-concern and marched away without a word, stomping down the near steps to the Chantry Square.

Hawke watched him go, fighting the urge to run after him and ring his _blighted_ neck for being so childish, and yet, felt immensely grateful that he was now out of the heart-crushing reach of the elf stood behind her. She looked briefly at Varric, imploring.

"I got it, Hawke," he said, and immediately made after her brother.

In the silence that followed Hawke knew she needed to say something, that Fenris was waiting, but she couldn't think how to begin.

Unexpectedly, he spoke first, though his sarcasm could not be denied. "Such loyalty, I remember it well."

"You don't think it's reciprocated?" Hawke asked, watching as he pushed off from the wall and stalked toward her.

"In Tevinter the Magister's hold all the power, over the Chantry, over the Imperial Court, over life itself. I've seen many crimes committed at the hands of mages in the name of anything they care to give credence to. _And_ the few," his eyes trained on her as he spoke, "who claim to be different, claim to be innocent, danger undoubtedly always finds them. So tell me, why should I think it's reciprocated? Why should I believe you are any less a danger than any other mage I've known? Or that your companions aren't merely fools for harbouring you instead of handing you over to the Circle where you belong."

Fenris was right beside her now, his marginal height advantage leaving her to feel three feet tall under the weight of such mistrust and hate. The searing anger that had sent her racing after him initially was resurfacing at the injustice of it all. His attitude - not only toward her, but her companions - had been abysmal in light of what they'd been willing to help him do. He had no right to stand there openly detesting her and accuse her of being anything. He didn't know her.

"You're looking at me as if I've claimed to be different. That I've defied what you know to be true of mages and then gone against my word, but I haven't said anything. I don't claim to be different, Fenris, because I don't owe you an explanation or an apology for who I am. You're so determined to liken me to these Magisters, but would any of them have agreed to help you tonight."

"If it suited them… if they'd stood to gain something."

"And what exactly was I standing to gain from_this_?" Hawke pointed to each of them, quickly highlighting the alliance they had agreed to. "Besides a colossal headache, that is."

"I already said I would find some way to repay you," Fenris answered, misinterpreting her question; his expression darkening further. Being indebted to her was evidently not something he relished. "Here," he said, thrusting a small bag of coin toward her, "it's all I have for now, and everything Anso promised."

Hawke shook her head. "I don't want your money, Fenris. It wasn't why I helped you."

"Just take it," he snapped, throwing her the bag forcing her to catch it. "It's the _only_ payment you'll get." That said he turned toward the mansion.

Hawke was momentarily stunned, staring after him, seething at the _assumption_ she had expected any other form of 'payment' - if anything at all.

"And just what was _that_ supposed to mean?" she demanded, storming after him. "Fenris?" She reached out to grab him and instantly he recoiled, wrenching his arm out of her reach.

"Don't touch me!" he threatened, spinning to face her, his form beginning to glow ominously blue.

Hawke lifted her palms to allay him, but he continued to loom over her. "You asked for _my_ help, Fenris, not the other way round," she said calmly, refusing to back away despite wanting to, desperately. "I haven't asked for anything from you, least of all what you were insinuating with that parting shot." Fenris's expression appeared briefly shocked as he considered her, his dark brows knotting together. "That I would demand or expect something of you _personally_, is that truly what you expected? Is that normal where you've come from?"

They stared at one another long and hard, neither willing to back down, but eventually whatever Fenris saw in Hawke's eyes was enough for him to concede the point. He sighed, letting his shoulders relax marginally.

"Whatever I believe, whatever I _know_ to be true of mages, I realise you have helped me tonight and that you have not asked for anything in return. I am not, however it might appear, ungrateful." Hawke lowered her guard and stepped away.

Fenris watched her retreat, his face sceptical, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was looking at. "You are not, Danarius," he added.

"Glad you noticed," Hawke muttered.

"Whether you are truly nothing like him remains to be seen."

She nodded, gravely. "I guess I'll have to live with that, for now."


	2. Enemies Like You and I

A/N - Right, here we are finally. This chapter was finished before I posted Unmet Expectations, then I read it again and thought, _oh no. _So some serious jigory pokery and 1000 words less later (I think) it's creating the mood I was after. I've been in two minds as to whether I shouldn't have kicked off this saga with this chapter actually and forgo Unmet Expectations all together. What do you think?

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><p>Moments in Time – Brief Encounters<p>

Enemies Like you and I

Hawke banged on the door and waited anxiously shifting her weight from foot to foot and finding neither very comfortable. Her resolve hadn't faltered on the way up to Hightown, but now she was here it was possibly the stupidest thing she could have ever done - on par with willingly wandering into a den of wolves and announcing her presence. _Perhaps that would be preferable?_ she mused, her mind wandering.

After what had felt like quite long enough, she hammered on the door again, feeling almost justified in the level of noise she generated as impatience began to outweigh her nerves. She stepped back to survey the mansions decrepit, windowless frontage. It offered no clues as to the whereabouts of its current occupier and no light seeped through the cracked stonework. To all intents and purposes it was just another derelict.

"Damn elf! Someone with a shadier purpose wouldn't be knocking now would they?" she mumbled through gritted teeth, wondering if Fenris might have changed his mind and left after all. His seething conviction at keeping the rotting place from Danarius's grasp convinced her otherwise. She stepped toward the door and tried the handle. It didn't budge. _Could Fenris have locked it? Does he even have a key? Most intruders he'd be concerned with wouldn't be put off by a lock, surely! _Following her instinct, Hawke put her shoulder to it and gave it a preliminary shove. The wood groaned against the frame as it moved slightly. Glancing over her shoulder to check for night patrols, she threw all her weight into the door_._ Finally, it relented, hinges squeaking in protest.

Hawke paused on the threshold, certain her noisy entrance should have drawn some attention, but only a light breeze came to greet her from the darkness, stirring up torn drapery and a damp odour to assault her nose. _Charming_, she thought with derision, eyes raking through the gloom. "Fenris!" she called, igniting a pale orb of light above her open palm and ventured further in. _Don't skewer me, please._

An eerie calm had settled within the mansion following the chaos of the previous night, though the walls still throbbed with intoxicating power stemming from the Veil's thinness and the haunting memory of demons. Hawke was starting to feel woozy again, her mage senses under constant bombardment from the incessant stimulant, but her connection to the Fade had always been strong.

She made her way across a wide corridor, stumbling over broken floor tiles and fallen statuary, toward a set of crumbling double doors leading into what would have been the grand hall. It was the central junction linking all the other floors and corridors, and seemed like a good place to find Fenris. The doors practically disintegrated as she pushed against them, and Hawke took a moment to survey the room through the settling dust. This vast space had seen their defeat of the Arcane Horror that lead the demons in defence of Danarius's estate._ Nothing quite like a prepared bloodmage, _she thought, sardonically. If not for the ruptured ceiling the hall would have been in complete darkness. As it was, moonlight pooled into the main foyer, succeeding in making the existing shadows darker and creating many a hiding place for an elf not wanting to be found.

"Fenris?" she called out again, her voice echoing through the stillness. The only response came from the Chantry bells distantly tolling the hour. She reluctantly began summoning some help.

The spell didn't require the usual effort - not that summoning was ever of great difficulty to her, Hawke used such techniques in healing frequently. The ease was just another side effect of the Veil's fragile state and somehow left an unusual taste in her mouth - a sweetness both enticing, and by default, disconcerting. The glowing wisp she brought forth from the Fade seemed more than happy to assist in her search. It bobbed and circled about her head enthusiastically, providing a little more light on the immediate area and something of the companionship she was regretfully missing.

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><p>Fenris jolted awake gasping for breath, yanked from a nightmare the echoes of which left him paralysed with fear. Adrenaline pulsed through him; ears reflexively straining to hear <em>anything<em>. He was sure he'd heard a voice, but now? He rubbed at his eyes furiously, trying and failing to stave off the disturbing imagery his mind still churned over.

Disoriented, he took in his strange surroundings, desperate to remember where he was and why he was here, as his hand reached for the familiar comfort of his sword lying beside him. He sat up, his back protesting against the position he'd unwittingly fallen asleep in on the floor, and on partly drawing the broad blade from its sheath, revealed the ichor damaged steel. The dismal sight jogged his memory and he let his head fall back, banging it into the wall behind him. He should have known things seemed too good to be true. How hadn't he seen it sooner?_ That_ was the infuriating question.

_She was a mage, of all things, a _mage_. And I revealed myself to her; put that knowledge in her hands._ His injured arm ached dully as he ran a hand over the bandaging, cursing his luck and stupidity. _Venhedis! What will be her price?_ Fenris knew, despite her claims to the contrary, Hawke wouldn't be beyond the temptations of power Danarius would offer in order to get to him. None of _them _were.

_Why _did_ she do it? Why did she help me? _No matter how much he sought to understand Hawke's motives, he couldn't. Her choice to aid him appeared to be nothing short of selfless, and he wasn't sure which notion grated more: that he was potentially being manipulated by a mage or pitied. Either was equally loathsome. He refused to consider Hawke's seemingly compassionate demeanour further, it only proved she wanted something from him, and though she might not have asked for anything yet, she would_. _And_ when she does, I'll take great delight in watching her squirm out from behind the falsities before denying her._

Growling, Fenris banged his head again, damning his pride to the Black City. Such gratification would be impossible whilst his self-professed debt to her remained.

The truth was he _knew_ he should have wiped the slate clean - he'd certainly had every opportunity to do so after the demons had been dealt with. Instead, he'd chosen 'a need for air'. Hawke, herself, had been the only real threat to him, and her youth and relative inexperience would have been viable weaknesses to exploit, but Fenris shook his head. He wasn't enough of a simpleton to believe it could ever be _that_ easy. Fate rarely favoured him. _It certainly would have avoided this niggling doubt and worry frustrating me to death now._ _So, why did I not act?_

He ran his fingers through his damp hair, feeling utterly wretched. _Because this,_ he answered inwardly, staring at his open palm in frustration, _this is not me. _His eyes trailed over the lyrium markings branded to his skin, watching the latent magical power of them flicker. "I am more than this," he declared in a whisper, the brands igniting with an unspoken command and totally engulfing his clenched fist in a white-blue light.

He closed his eyes, the memory of pain tearing through him as his arm phased up to the elbow. It didn't matter that it was easy, that he had full control, agony would always be a part of it. His pain threshold could be dangerously askew as a result. In fact, it had only been the shock written on Hawke's face that had told him he'd been injured last night, though he had been caught up in 'other feelings' at the time. _Venhedis mage_, he cursed, re-experiencing his anger at her anew.

"Fenris!"

His eyes snapped open and he was on his feet, sword in hand, in less than a second. _Vishante Kaffas,_ _I knew I'd heard something!_ Silently he crossed the room to the door and peered out into the dark. The chamber he'd chosen to make his own was set back on a wide landing and though defensible, now showed how limited a vantage point it had - the vastness of the grand hall simply stretching out of sight beyond the stone balustrade feet away. Fenris inched the door open wider and eased himself out.

Staying in the shadows close to the wall, he edged forward, stooping low to one side of the stairwell where two symmetrical flights descended down to the main foyer. His keen eyes searched frantically through the shafts of light bursting down into the open space below_. _Slight movement drew his attention and he saw Hawke, stood on the far side of the hall just inside the doorway, two orbs of light hovering about her person as she scanned the huge space with similar diligence. He instinctively crouched deeper into the shadows, unsure how to proceed. Evidently, she hadn't seen him as she turned around and stepped out of sight into the corridor behind her.

He tried to calm down, realising his freshly felt anger toward her was irrelevant given the circumstance_,_ but his heart continued to pound. The mere idea that she _had_ come, that she had the audacity to break into his shelter and parade about as if it was her right to hound his sleep awoke too many memories. Memories of his former life and the woman responsible for making it a living nightmare: _Hadriana_.

It drew on the darkness within him, a well of hate mages were responsible for and filled him with a lust for revenge so strong it was physically painful. What he wouldn't give for it to have been Hadriana stalking the halls rather than Hawke - to have that bitch within reach and a chance to make her pay. Fenris's expression darkened with pure rage, his markings pulsing madly.

Suddenly he was moving, tracking Hawke with deadly purpose. At that moment he didn't care that she had helped him or that his pride demanded he show greater restraint toward her. He only knew she was another mage, another manipulating viper like all the rest, like Hadriana. Her intentions would be made crystal clear to him or she would die.

He was over the balustrade in an instant, landing softly midway down the flight of stairs on the balls of his bare feet. He listened intently for a second, tracking Hawke's faint footsteps as she made her way along the corridor to the right of the hall. She was making little effort to remain quiet and the rational part of his mind wondered at her behaviour. _Of course, she's already called out to me, she hopes to find me._ "And,_ she will," _he sneered.

Fenris sped for a side door and emerged into the corridor ahead of her. Hawke was nowhere to be seen, though he could hear her speaking quietly. His unbidden curiosity as to who or what else she was talking to was abandoned when she suddenly emerged from one of the adjoining rooms. He wheeled about, pressing his back into the shadows of the wall opposite; then slowly edged round the corner behind him out of sight. Holding his great sword ready, he waited.

The corridor itself was littered with debris; various storage crates, barrels, and Fenris listened as Hawke manoeuvred several things out of her way to check each room systematically. She was close now, close enough that he could make out her sigh as she closed the door to yet another empty room. "I did say he might not be here, didn't I?" she said, seemingly to herself. He watched the greenish haze, beginning to light the surrounding area, grow in intensity till the orb responsible fluttered by. It was quite beautiful in its own way, but disturbing in the extreme as he recognised it for what it truly was: A Fade Spirit. How often had he seen these benign things exist as the forerunners to the summoning of demons and blood magic? It bobbed about excitedly in the direction of some stacked crates. "Wait," Hawke breathed, from a matter of feet away around the corner. "Fenris?" she called again, he didn't move.

"I was sure I heard something," she muttered, suddenly marching straight passed him, totally oblivious to his presence - despite her own pale orb highlighting his outline and the intense way he watched her with his dark elven eyes. "What is it?" she asked as her spirit companion continued to flit about at the base of the crates. The urge to reach out and throttle the life from her was near overwhelming. _She's within reach, I could do it, _Fenris thought, pulling himself away from the wall fractionally.

The spirit suddenly shifted, hovering as if to read the mouldy scrap of paper Hawke was now deliberating over. "Hmm," she mumbled, before laughing unexpectedly and turning to look up at it. Clearly, Fenris was only able to discern one side of the conversation. "Really?" she asked in disbelief, smiling. "I never knew that."

Fenris found himself completely disarmed by the sight of her genuine mirth. For it to have been something so trivial was insane, but he couldn't help it. His anger had been fuelled from visions of his past the like of which, Hawke, bore no resemblance to. In fact, the only similarity he could glean between her and Hadriana might have been the paleness of their skin, a rarity amongst mages from the warm climate of Tevinter, but Hadriana had rarely seen daylight. She was a night crawler.

Horrific recollections made Fenris shudder to the core. He shook them off, desperate not to fall into the despairing well of hate again. Especially with Hawke there, another innocent who might have been lost as a consequence of his built-in need to destroy. He hung his head in dismay, wondering at the absurdity of applying the word 'innocent' to a mage, but for once it was true. Hawke was innocent, for now.

He stepped up behind her as she made her way further up the corridor. In the process he deliberately made just enough noise for her to hear, scraping the tip of his great sword over the stone floor. She turned quickly; her hands flexing, readying her magic, but found herself confronted by his blade at her throat. Her bright eyes widened, but that was all the reaction she gave as the wisp, bobbing about beside her, suddenly burst into frenzied action, darting back and forth between them.

"Peace," Hawke demanded gently, and with a wave of her hand, it, and the other orb of light were gone.

They stood there unmoving for a time, the moonlight spilling into the space from the next room leaving Fenris mostly bathed in shadow.

"There are few mages I know able to look down the blades edge without a trace of fear. You are truly more dangerous than I first thought," he offered at length, noting Hawke simply take a long breath and let her hands fall loosely to her sides. He wasn't fooled by her casual stance. He could sense her discomfort though she fought to hide it. "Do you have so little care for your own welfare that you would summon spirits in this place and then call out to me?"

"Perhaps if you had responded to my knocking, or my calls, some help searching for you wouldn't have been necessary," she suggested, impressively calm.

"Why are you here?" he asked, lifting his sword away and resting it over his shoulder. He wouldn't need it to kill her if he had to.

"I came to return this," she explained, handing Fenris a bag of coin. He recognised it instantly as what he'd previously paid her. "I can't accept it."

_So, it is to be manipulation, _he thought viciously. "You were fast enough to take it last night," he said, turning his back on her.

"You were fast enough to force it on me," she countered, following after him as he made his way back into the grand hall. "I wasn't going to argue over it yesterday."

"But you're willing to argue about it today?" Fenris asked, without looking back.

"I'm more inclined," she answered, infuriatingly reasonable.

At the foot of the stairs his limited patience gave way and he rounded on her, not willing to have a mage follow him any further. He did his best to loom over her menacingly and unleashed his blackest look, something that would have sent braver men scurrying for cover, but Hawke didn't flinch.

"I think we said quite enough to one another yesterday without adding this to the equation too." Hawke lifted the bag of coin and gave it a jingle to emphasize the point. "Now, however…" she shrugged.

Her lack of fear left Fenris thrown briefly and he didn't know what to say. He was used to one of two reactions. Either most were horrified by him or lusted after his 'exotic' appearance. Hawke did neither, her expression remaining open and impassive as she held his glare levelly.

"Keep it!" he demanded with a scowl, pulling himself away and heading back up the stairs two at a time. He needed to get out of the confusing situation quickly before he let such weakness and unease show.

"Fenris," she spoke after him, "either you take it, or I'm going to have to sit right here and hold it." He paused, glancing back in clear disbelief to see Hawke sat down on the bottom step. "It's not something I really want to do," she sighed.

"Then don't," he growled.

"But it wouldn't be very responsible of me to just leave a decent sum of coin such as this sitting around for anyone to come and pick up. The door isn't locked you know," she said, gesturing absently in its direction. "Maker knows who could just come wandering in."

"Quite," Fenris agreed dryly, considering the obvious benefit to having the lock repaired sitting at the foot of his stairs. "_You_ won't be able to stay there," he challenged.

"You'd be surprised. I've slept in some pretty uncomfortable places. A set of stairs hardly qualifies as a bed and breakfast but it'll do, if I have to."

"_No_, you won't be able to stay there," Fenris repeated, knowing his intended meaning of 'I won't let you' was clear in the way Hawke's eyes lifted to his, glinting at the threat. 'Just try it,' they said, and for an insane moment, the part of him still bristling for a fight was sorely tempted. Curious as to whether the mansion could structurally withstand another conflict beyond harsh words, Fenris heaved a sigh. "Will you leave if I just go back to bed, I wonder?"

"That depends," replied Hawke, "with or without the coin?" She gave the bag another annoying jangle.

Grumbling, Fenris marched down the steps and swiped the bag from Hawke's waiting hand. "Now, please, _get out_," he snapped, standing over her.

"Gladly," she said, ignoring his obvious attempt at intimidation and lithely got to her feet, brushing the dust off her leathers. "Would you perhaps be interested in making some more coin?" she asked him amiably.

He looked skyward, trying to reign in his temper. _Here it comes, _he thought expectantly, _sooner than I'd envisaged_, _but… _"Why?" he asked, looking down at her again.

"You said you owed me a debt," Hawke began, "and please don't think me foolish enough to believe that such an offer was anything other than obligatory, but I need your sword and obvious expertise, Fenris." The comment earned her a curious look from him. He wasn't used to anyone, especially a mage, being so forthright. "I'm currently planning an expedition into the Deep Roads. Forgive me, but it was one of the main reasons I agreed to help you yesterday. The potential of another sword, another ally, it was too good to be overlooked."

He couldn't help but stare at her, unable to wrap his head around her apparent honesty. "What about your brother?" he asked.

"Well, that's just it," she answered, turning away and ringing her hands. "I can't take him." She bowed her head, considering her next words with care. "I'm no expert in close combat, but find myself forced onto the frontline too often just to keep him out of danger." Fenris couldn't supress a scoff. "Don't misunderstand me, Carver's a fair fighter, strong, quick, but he's young, comparatively inexperienced… he's my brother." Hawke's eyes were wide with concern as she looked up again and Fenris had to give her credit, it was convincing. "You've seen well enough what he can be like," she added, grimacing.

'_Arrogant_' sprung to Fenris's mind along with the memory of the youth facing off against him. '_Foolish in the extreme'_ considering he'd already witnessed some of what he, Fenris, was capable of. Fenris could also recall Hawke's reaction. How she'd practically thrown herself between them before pushing her brother away, her face riddled with fear. She hadn't forgotten his potential talents clearly.

"I can't take him to the Deep Roads," she reiterated, breaking through Fenris's reverie. "I can't _risk_ taking him, however much he wants to go." She paced slowly away from the stairs over to a broken set of shelves and absently traced her finger down the spine of some battered book. "Though he'll never forgive me… I couldn't do that to mother," she mumbled, not realising Fenris could still hear her.

"I realise it might seem like an odd time to ask, we're not heading off to the Deep Roads tomorrow, but after yesterday," Hawke let the explanation hang, "I wanted to give you time to consider the idea."

"And what makes you think I'd need the time, that I couldn't decide right now and tell you 'no, it's a mage – fool's errand.'"

She smiled warily. "Of course there was always that risk, but I believe you're frank enough to have said 'no' immediately, before any explanation was given had you absolutely decided against me. That's the real question after all, isn't it? Could you work with me, knowing what I am?" Her eyes lifted to his face again, clearly hopeful, but when Fenris offered no response she turned away. "If so, then I would make a suggestion. Come out with us on our next contract, familiarise yourself with the way our group operates. We'll be meeting in the Hanged Man tomorrow evening to discuss plans further. I'd be glad to see you there. Ask for myself or Varric; you'll get pointed in the right direction."

Hawke made to leave. "Oh, I almost forgot," she said suddenly, turning back. "I brought you this too." She walked up the stairs toward him, digging through her belt pack. Finally she extracted a small corked bottle and handed it to him; Fenris took it without a word, having no idea what it was. "It's a cleaning aid, of my own invention," she explained, the faintest hint of a smile catching the corner of her lips again as he eyed the bottle cautiously. "I admit, I got so fed of up listening to Carver complain about the state of his sword after particularly rough encounters, I had to come up with something. His was in little better shape last night." She pointed knowingly at Fenris's damaged blade, stepping aside as he lifted it out, unable to supress a frustrated sigh. "It is a beautiful weapon," she admired, "does it have a name?"

"Perhaps," he answered roughly, in no mind to share such details with her, however grateful he was for the cleaning agent.

"Well, just apply a little of the liquid to a cloth or something and rub it on, it'll lift the ichor right off." With that, Hawke headed back down the stairs and across the hall, the pillars of moonlight catching the outline of her willowy figure. "Goodnight," she said softly, pausing in the far doorway to look back for a second before disappearing out of sight.

With Hawke's departure, Fenris made his slow way back up the stairs feeling completely bemused, eyes drifting back to the far door continuously. His mind racked through the encounter. _Did I agree to anything?_ he asked himself. Looking for the distinct signs of anything untoward he felt at the weight of the coin she had given back to him, wondering if she had truly returned it all, or hadn't perhaps taken a small percentage by way of payment for the potion. He lifted the cleaning agent then, scrutinising the bottle and decided that _it_ was where any deception must lie.

Resolved, Fenris's fist tightened around it and he raced up the remaining few steps back into his room, eager to prove to himself that his negative assumptions of Hawke had not been oddly misplaced. On grabbing the nearest scrap of cloth he could lay his hands on, he sat down at the table and set to work.

Having expected the liquid to be noxious it was a total surprise to find it clear and almost completely odourless. Tentatively, he rubbed a tiny amount onto his blade and watched in pure astonishment as the patch of steel he concentrated on cleaned up anew. Unable to believe his eyes he continued over the rest. Sometime later, Fenris lifted the massive sword for a full inspection. He couldn't recall it ever having looked so tended to, and he knew how many hours he'd dedicated to looking after it. It had been restored to a thing of beauty, his dangerous treasure, though apparently its attractive aesthetics had not been beyond Hawke's notice, even in its damaged state.

Fenris leant back in his chair, his finger smoothing along the blades glistening edge thoughtfully. It was strange to realise how attached to this 'gift' he had become, but despite its origins, he had to admit, he would not be without it. It was not unlike the armour Danarius had created for him too - a mere extension of himself.

_"Lethendralis,"_ Fenris whispered, the name he had bestowed upon the sword flowing from his lips as if hoping the weapon could divulge some much needed guidance. To one so used to the black and white way of the world, shades of grey left him distinctly uneasy. Yet, there was one thing he knew for certain. Though it galled him, though Hawke was a mage and everything he detested, he knew he would find some way to repay her.


	3. Dangerous Assumptions

A/N - Man alive... this chapter! So hard to write. I've had some serious real life goings on which have made it blooming difficult to sit and concentrate. For all those waiting on this, I can only apologize for how long it's been since I updated. thousands of words have been written, and cut and rehashed and moved about. Gahhh! On the bright side there's plenty of material to be going on with at this point at least.

Many, many thanks for all the favs and alerts and for those kind enough to leave me a review. So, so grateful to you all.

It still remains unbeta'd I'm afraid, but for several goings over by me. Anything glaringly, annoyingly obvious give me a kick up the behind for it will you. Thanks ;-)

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><p>Moments in Time – Brief Encounters<p>

Dangerous Assumptions

It was another chill night for spring as Fenris descended into Lowtown's deserted market - the kind that threatened snow and showed the perseverance of winter in the South. Having never experienced such variation in weather before, the cold had not been something Fenris had met with relish on passing through the Vimmark Mountains.

_A cold freedom is still freedom_, he told himself, warily scanning the empty market stalls, listening hard, anticipating an ambush to come from the shadows at any given moment. "Freedom," he sneered, unable to entertain the idea. He'd allowed himself to get lazy too many times before hoping that the chase was over, that the hunters had finally let him be. He would not make that mistake again.

His nose wrinkled at the faintest hint of frying fish in the air, the smell only getting stronger as he progressed through the market and into a more residential part of town. Houses were stacked atop of houses here, the original living quarters of Imperium slaves who had carved them from the rock-face centuries earlier. Lines of laundry were strung out from every window, criss-crossing over the veritable maze of high walled side streets. A few shutters banged closed abruptly with his passing. Fenris wasn't surprised. Only trouble walked the streets alone at night.

It didn't take long for him to reach his destination, the strange, but familiar sight of the massive 'Hanged Man' swinging by the ankle coming into view. As far as squalid taverns went, Fenris had stayed in worse than the Hanged Man - though his experience of the place had been limited to a brief meeting with the dwarf, Anso, on first arriving in Kirkwall.

The volume of noise hit hard as he pushed his way through the front door. The place was heaving, filled to the brim with varying scum, off duty guardsmen and a scattering of nobility seeking cheaper thrills than The Blooming Rose could provide in low lit corners. A trio of minstrels had claimed an elevated position opposite the bar, their music floating over the constant drone of chattering patrons. All were too inebriated to register the rank smell of sweat and general mustiness.

Fenris lingered unnoticed in the shadows of the entryway, his eyes following a particularly brutal looking length of broken chain wending its way into the rafters high above. There were several of these dispersed across the ceiling space, their original purpose long forgotten with a few now supporting massive lanterns instead and sporadically raining clouds of ash on the throng below.

He hated succumbing to the weakness of doubt that plagued him. It was a luxury he could ill afford; especially now with the apparent necessity of breaching the 'mage' boundaries he had painstakingly reinforced over the years. He had been foolish to believe, even for an instant, that an act of kindness on _her_ behalf would assuage his underlying fears. They gripped him now, as assuredly as he gripped the door frame to steady himself and consider how much of a desperate idiot he was by being here at all.

Keen to steel his mind, he felt at the meagre weight of the purse Hawke had returned to him, still quietly amazed to have it back with full contents. Clearly he needed more coin if he was truly considering staying in Kirkwall - the benefits of which far outstripped any notion of running further. This… _alliance_ he was begrudgingly agreeing to by coming tonight was only a means to _that_ end. It had already given Danarius reason to pause, and strategically was an ideal opportunity to monitor the potential threat Hawke posed.

Ignoring his raging instincts to turn and leave, Fenris made for the bar.

A pretty dark haired barmaid was struggling to lift a barrel up onto the counter - her efforts being severely impeded by surrounding jeers, and a drunken patron who proceeded to grab two handfuls of her rear as she bent forward.

"What d'ya say, Norah?" the drunk asked in a slur. "Let yooo an' me find ourselves a nice li'l spot together, eh?" He leant in, attempting to rest his head on her ample bosom as she spun to face him.

"Get off me you great lout," she yelled, slapping the dolt so hard he flew backward off his stool. "Not if you were the last man in Kirkwall, Ned. You hear me? Touch me again and the beer won't be the only thing I cut you off from, understand?" Fenris wasn't sure the threat implied was understood given 'Ned' was grinning up at her like a fool the entire time, his hand rubbing at the red welt blooming on his cheek.

Still seething, Norah turned back to her original task walking straight into Fenris as he made his way over. She huffed in annoyance as she stumbled, blindly batting away his instinctive reaction to reach forward and steady her.

Pulling away, she drew herself up. "_You_…" The rest of the sentence died on her lips leaving her mouth slightly open in muted surprise. He allowed Norah a moment, knowing full well how strange his appearance must be to her - _to anyone_ - fighting his discomfort at her wide, inquisitive eyes taking in every inch of his skin-tight armour and extensive 'tattoos'.

Suddenly realising what she was doing Norah blushed, tucking a lose strand of hair behind her ear. "S'cuse me," she murmured, attempting to reach for the barrel at his feet. Fenris stopped her, more out of his own desire to keep some personal space and easily picked it up placing it on the counter. "Thanks," Norah said, looking up at him from under her lashes as she eased passed - a little closer than was strictly necessary - and made her way round to the other side of the bar. "You always so helpful?" she asked uncertainly.

"It would appear you need little assistance," said Fenris, lifting his chin in the direction of the heap that was Ned still sprawled on the floor and ignoring the way the glaring _asinu_ muttered several 'knife-ear' curses his way. He was drawing other attention now too as several unsavoury looking characters extracted themselves from the surrounding crowd to help Ned to his feet.

Norah scowled. "I'm nothing but tits and arse to that prick, or to any of them when they've been drowning what little sense they had to start with in here all day! Still," she shrugged dismissively, "pays the rent doesn't it? I've seen you in here before haven't I, the other day?""

"Briefly, maybe," Fenris answered, marking sudden movement in his peripheral vision. He looked up to see a few patrons picking up their drinks and withdrawing, no doubt feeling the hostile turn in the atmosphere as he could. A quick glance back found him confronted with the combined ire of Ned and his friends, all envious and drunkenly belligerent, looking to the stranger elf to provide a sporting scapegoat for dented pride.

A horrible feeling of inevitability sunk through Fenris's chest as he glared back. _Don't,_ he pleaded in a mental growl, watching the savage considerations flash through Ned's eyes as he yanked his arm free of his friends grasp and stepped forward.

Knowing a fight would end only one way: with blood on _his_ hands, Fenris quickly turned back to Norah. "I'm looking for, Hawke," he said, wanting to remove himself from the undeniable temptation a conflict would provide his penchant for violence.

She rolled her eyes and nodded. "Figures," she sighed, gesturing absently toward the back of the Inn. "Up the stairs at the back and the first door you see. That's Varric's suite. Hawke'll be there if she's anywhere."

Why it should 'figure' Fenris had no idea, and no time to ask as Norah was busying herself with other things again. He let it go and began weaving his way through the crowds, giving Ned one last cautioning look in passing before making no further acknowledgement of the murderous glares he could feel at his back. _If they truly wish death, let them come,_ he thought.

As per Norah's directions Fenris stopped by the first door he came to at the top of the stairs. It was surprisingly open, firelight spilling out into the corridor from within. Silently he edged forward, applying caution to the circumstance out of habit - a necessity learned from years on the run. At a glance he made out what appeared to be a very opulent suite. The unmistakeable dwarven décor was sturdy and well lived in with a large stone topped table dominating the floor space directly in front of him and many personal affects lining the shelved walls.

"Well, look who decided to take a stroll down to Lowtown."

It took a moment for Fenris to locate Varric stood by the fire on the far side of the room. Even with his keen eyes the dwarf's stature and roguish attire afforded him surprisingly effective camouflage as he went about fixing himself a drink. It was disturbing to admit just how little he could recollect of the dwarf despite having spent several hours in his company only two nights ago. He knew Hawke was the reason, the admission fuelling his simmering doubts. It had been to her – the apparent leader - Fenris had blindly directed all conversation prior to discovering what she truly was. After that, well, she'd _still_ managed to dominate his thoughts, though be it for more self-deprecating reasons.

How many times had she slipped under his guard already, once, twice? Was _this_ to be a third? Was he truly such a fool?

"You've just cost me a gold piece, elf," Varric jibed. "Hawke hoped you'd show. Me? I wasn't so sure."

_That I'd show or that you hoped I'd show?_ Fenris wondered, leaning in the doorway, considering the odd notion of such a thing being worth betting on in the first place. "Is Hawke here?" he asked.

"She'll be along," said Varric, bidding Fenris to enter. "Don't people 'come in' where you're from?" he asked, turning to proffer up another glass. "Drink?"

Fenris gave the room one last scan before taking a few steps over the threshold, declining the dwarf's offer with a slight shake of the head. Though a drink was undoubtedly tempting, he wasn't fool enough to risk making his position more vulnerable than it already felt.

Varric shrugged. "Feel free to change your mind at any time, elf. A drink might be just what you need if Rivaini gets wind of the fact that you're here." Fenris lifted an eyebrow curiously but didn't ask. "You'll see," Varric chuckled, marking the elf's expression. "Trust me."

"So," he began, taking what was obviously his usual seat at the head of the long table. "How're you finding squatting in the lap of luxury? Hawke mentioned you were possibly fixing to stay."

Fenris regarded the dwarf for a moment, wondering how much had actually been communicated to him. "Perhaps," he responded guardedly. "For now it's as good as any other place."

"Do you think Danarius was ever really here?" Varric asked. "I mean, the mansion appeared pretty deserted - before we had to evict the demons that is."

Fenris had wondered the same thing. "Certain information had led me to believe so," he offered, his voice distant as he thought over all the various leads that had brought him to this point.

"None of my sources turned up anything," muttered Varric, swirling his drink thoughtfully. "A Tevinter magister holed up in Hightown, that's something you'd expect somebody to know about, right? Worrying thing is no one had any idea."

"Danarius has power and influence. It's likely many of your sources were manipulated."

With a grimace, Varric nodded. "That's pretty much a given. Still, doesn't bode well, especially if he's still in the city."

Fenris shook his head bitterly. "Coward that he is, with his hunters slain, I doubt he would linger."

"Think he'll come back?" Varric asked.

Fenris looked to the door, the notion of freedom, of hope leaving a sour taste in his mouth. His jaw tightened with the reminder of the continual nightmare his survival had been over the past few years. If Danarius did give up, would he? He doubted it, how could he live with a wolf at his back? "He's too proud not to," he responded at length, thinking of himself as much as his former master. Cheers suddenly irrupted from the crowd below as the minstrels began a lively, evidently popular, melody.

"I guess it's lucky you found us then, elf."

"Lucky?" Fenris scoffed, eyeing the dwarf sceptically. "It would appear my luck has an ironic sense of humour."

"Ouch," Varric chuckled, feigning a jab to the heart, "don't get too personal or anything. You'll make me cry in my highly delightful cocktail."

"Forgive me that was not intended as a slight on your capabilities. Anso chose wisely… in _that_ regard."

"It's just, Hawke, right?"

Fenris couldn't answer straight away. Yes it was her, but it was more than that. To someone who had never been a slave, or existed in a world of 'free' mages, his feelings about them would make little sense. With a strained sigh he said, "I've spent the better part of three years running from the very thing I now find myself indebted to. The irony of this circumstance… it defies reason."

"You know, Elf, Hawke's not like-"

"Son of a bitch!" Whatever Varric had been about to say was abruptly cut off by the curse and Fenris followed the dwarf's startled gaze to the doorway behind him. A woman was backing into the room, practically doubled over with the weight of the bag she was dragging. She had a pair of the longest legs Fenris had ever seen and boots to match - not to mention attire that left little to the imagination in her current position.

"Er, Rivaini?" Varric enquired as further cursing continued through her struggles. Fenris's eyes widened. _Gods, _this_ is Rivaini?_

"Varric, get you're dwarven behind over here and help me with this would you, its bloody heavy!"

Varric obliged instantly. "Maker's breath woman, what have you swagged now?" he asked, grabbing the other side of the bag and pulling hard.

"Don't ask me," Rivaini grunted, "ask _what's-his-face_, or even better ask _Hawke_! Andraste's great flaming arse, I didn't realise we were supplying the clinic now."

Varric let go and stood up, clearly worried. "Anders is here?"

"Why else would Hawke suddenly run off to do anything?" Rivaini replied, standing up to stretch her back. Fenris's curiosity at who this Anders was, was somewhat stifled by the sight of her. He wouldn't claim to be easily distracted, but he couldn't help but admire the view she presented - all lean lines and full curves. She moved with the assurance of someone who knew she were a beauty. Her rich brown hair flowing in untamed waves down her back, held by a tight blue bandana that allowed only wisps of a fringe to escape and frame her face. She dripped with gold, the bright jewellery gleaming off her smooth tanned skin in all manner of places.

"Yeah, I think what you're thinking and what she was thinking are two very different things. We have company," Varric gestured in Fenris's direction and she turned in surprise, clearly having no idea he was there.

He held her hazel gaze as long as he could, though she was evidently far more comfortable with lingering attention than he. He quickly realised that 'deadly beauty' would have been a fairer description. Rivaini's air of confidence was clearly no front. What minimal pieces of leather armour she wore were like a second skin, and the dangerous gleam in her eyes left him believing the twin daggers strapped to her back were not for show.

"Wonderful, here I've been looking forward to meeting you and I am sweating like a whore in a Chantry." She wiped the back of her hand across her brow and kicked the heavy bag at her feet. "_And_ by the way, don't think the thought's never crossed her mind, Varric." She walked over to stand in front of Fenris as she spoke, gaging the distance to leave between them as only a rogue could. "Hawke's all lame and doe eyed when Anders is around." Fenris glanced to see Varric roll his eyes at this, but ventured nothing on these developments. Clearly Hawke was involved, or at least wanted to be. "So, you're what all the fuss has been about," said Riviani, drawing his attention back to her.

"Fuss?" Fenris asked, arching one dark eyebrow.

"And with arms like that you couldn't have lent us a hand just now?" She smiled as he shifted his weight uneasily. "Fenris, isn't it? I'm Isabela. Formerly _Captain_ Isabela," she bowed in a mocking attempt at formal introductions, achieving giving him a generous view of her cleavage in the process.

"Captain?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"The title rings a bit hollow these days," she answered, straightening up again. "I've heard all about you, however." She looked him over appreciatively. "Hmm, you're taller than I expected - quite lanky for an elf. I like lanky."

"You like a lot of things, I'm sure," he said, folding his arms across his chest, uncomfortable with the scrutiny and the idea he was something to be gossiped about.

"Bold and to the point too, promising," replied Isabela, cocking her head flirtatiously.

"Play nice, Rivaini," Varric interjected, not looking up from undoing the bag they'd dragged in and checking the contents. The aroma emanating from inside told Fenris it was filled with various herbs.

"I will if _he_ does," she said with a wink, "though I'm always up for exploring other avenues."

The proposition rapidly took his mind off in a very uncomfortable direction and though he reflexively shied away from the prospect he couldn't help the heat rise to his cheeks.

"…thought so," Isabela purred, clearly satisfied by his reaction.

"What does Anders want with all this?" questioned Varric, under his breath. "Is Hawke still in Martin's stock room?"

"Yep," Isabela answered, not taking her eyes from Fenris. "Her and her utter stick-in-the-mud 'friend', doing what only mages do best when they come together in a stock room full of ingredients… chemistry!"

"A mage?" Fenris snapped, interrupting Isabela chuckling at her own joke. "This _Anders_ is a mage too then? Hawke never mentioned _other_ mages." He looked to Varric for an explanation. It was clear the dwarf knew Hawke had kept such information to herself, but he offered nothing bar a non-committal shrug.

"He's a healer," Isabela explained, sauntering passed to fix herself a drink. "He runs a secret clinic in Darktown for the damned and desperate. Having fallen into that category a few times now I can honestly say he's good at what he does, despite the other things he has going on."

"Rivaini!" Varric chided, she ignored him.

"It's all very hush, hush, for… well, for obvious reasons."

The horrifying idea of being covertly dragged into some kind of mage resistance raced through Fenris's mind. "What do you mean, 'other things'?" he growled.

"Did I say other things?" Isabela asked, her eyes wide and innocent, she knew full well she had. "All I meant is that for a mage Anders is a little… different, that's all."

"Different, how?" demanded Fenris, taking an irritable step toward her. _Was being a mage alone not bad enough?_

"Look, if you want to meet him? He's just down the way - last room on the left."

Fenris took one last long look at the pair of them before striding for the door.

"Hey, Fenris, wait!" Varric called after him. He didn't stop. Not caring for whatever game he was being drawn into, he refused to be manipulated.

"He looks good storming away doesn't he?" commented Isabela, taking a seat and resting her feet up on the table, perfectly relaxed.

"Nice going, Riviani," said Varric, scowling at her from the doorway.

"Oh please, Varric, Hawke's been terrified at the idea of those two bumping into each other in some dark alley one night. You should have seen the panic she was in when Anders turned up out the blue just now. That's no way to live. This way they'll meet, get over it and move on. She'll thank me later."

"Yeah, right after she kills you. Did you forget about the magical fisting thing _he_ can do?"

Isabela cracked up laughing. "Put it like that and I really have to wonder how I could. I'll be sure to ask him about it sometime."

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><p>"Really? Oh, poor Ida*," said Hawke, trying not to choke in the dust she was generating. "I can't imagine that went down well at all."<p>

"How were we to know?" asked Anders, holding back a chuckle, his voice floating up from where he stood at the foot of the ladder. "Still, all's well that ends well."

"I guess, as long as she's alright." Hawke tried to straighten her back, groaning with the effort crammed as she was in such a tiny spot.

"You okay up there? Do you need a hand?" Anders asked.

"No, it's alright," she replied, wondering how on earth he'd fit when she barely had room for herself. "Just takes a bit of finding anything. Nothing's ever in the same place, Martin keeps moving bits around. Ah, there's more Deeproot here?" she said, knowing Anders had mentioned an interest in the reagent.

"If you have spare - I'd be grateful of it," he replied.

"Not a problem." Hawke dragged herself and the bag of Deeproot to the balcony edge and dropped it over. Apparently Anders hadn't been prepared as the heavy thud was met with a muffled curse.

"Maker's breath woman, some warning please!" he rebuked.

"Sorry," Hawke apologised, unable to supress a giggle as she looked over the top of the ladder. "Still in one piece?"

"Barely," he moaned, dragging the offending bag toward him with his foot. "Do you know how hard it is to get Deeproot juice out of robes?" He looked up at her.

"Surely do," Hawke replied, meeting his accusatory glare with a smile. "In my defence I thought you were paying attention."

"I was, to your scribblings here on Spindleweed." He turned one of the tomes she had stacked on her alchemy table around and flicked through the loose leafs. "Your findings are quite intriguing, almost Circle-esque in their thoroughness."

"Is that a compliment?" she asked, unsure.

Anders half shrugged and pushed the tome away. "I guess it's an observation."

"You're forgetting my father was a Circle mage. My interest in fine details no doubt springs from his schooling. He was quite a brilliant teacher."

"Was he a herbalist too?"

"Maker, no," Hawke laughed, "plants hated him, or so he said. In truth, he simply forgot about them. An easy thing to forgive him for when he had so much else to worry about keeping us safe and hidden." Anders nodded thoughtfully at that. "Do you think that will do you then?" she asked, surveying the small mound of produce she had donated to him.

"I'd hope so," Anders said, "though I'm not entirely sure how I'm going to get all this down to the Clinic."

Hawke shrugged. "Well maybe ask Isabela to help you carry it - really, really nicely."

"I think one bag was enough on that score, Marian. I've seen far too much of that woman lately for reasons you do not want to know."

"I'm sure it's no more or less than anyone else has seen before," Hawke replied over her shoulder, moving back to the task at hand. She still hadn't found what _she_ was looking for. "Though you're right, I'd rather not know the details. She's tenacious that one."

"Hmm, that's one word for her I guess. What are you looking for anyway?"

"Something I should never have stored in here, it was always a too safe place. Meaning it'd be a bloody miracle for me to find the blasted thing again." Realising she hadn't actually said yet, she came back to the edge. "It's an amulet," she explained, gesturing its general proportions. "'Bout yay big; looks old enough to have belonged to the Witch of the Wilds." She smiled inwardly at that. "On leaving Ferelden I was charged with delivering it to the Dalish Keeper, Marathari."

"Is there a clan near here then?" Anders asked curiously, turning his attention to the nearby shelves to help search.

"Near Sundermount or so I've been told. That's where we're headed tomorrow."

With a deep breath Hawke plunged back into the narrow expanse, burrowing deeply behind assorted crates, barrels and bundles. Finally, she uncovered her old storage chest, and though she could recall moving it into Martin's store only a matter of weeks ago it had been well over a year since she had found the courage to view the contents.

Only two items graced the otherwise barren interior: a tiny bundle she knew held the amulet she sought and beside it: a finely crafted leather bracelet – a late birthday gift from Bethany. Late because of the perfectionist her sister had always been, labouring over every detail of every craft she learned from magic, to music, to this. Tentative fingers lifted the bracelet into the light admiring the craftsmanship anew; marvelling at how well her sister had known her. It was everything Hawke liked, delicate intricacies creating a sturdy whole, something serviceable she could wear all the time, but with enough ornamentation from a scattering of fine red beads woven into the braid to keep it feminine. Her terror of it getting damaged by accident had seen it stored away in here never to see the light of day. It was such a shame; such a terrible waste.

She didn't realise she was crying till Anders voice cut through her reverie. "Marian?"

"Ah- ha!" she crowed, hastily wiping her eyes, "I've found it." Moments later, having returned the braid to the chest and burying it beneath various oddments, she held the small bag containing the amulet aloft triumphantly and began climbing down the ladder.

"Sounds like quite the day trip you've got planned for tomorrow," said Anders, standing off to the side as he held the run leaving her room to come down.

Hawke laughed, pausing a few steps up so she was just above him. "Day trip? Should I be packing a picnic?"

"Perhaps," he said, smiling casually.

"I'll have you know we were attacked by bandits the last time we went up there. I do very serious work."

His expression was unchanged as he held her gaze, and Hawke found herself blushing nervously. Keen to stay focused she asked, "How're you doing anyway? I'm sorry I never asked before. You seem chipper."

"I'm alright," he sighed contentedly, resting the side of his face to the ladder and bringing himself that much closer to her. "_Things_ are… easier at the moment, for whatever reason." His answer provoked the seriousness of his character, but it melted away as quickly as it had come, his whole expression opening into a smile that creased the corners of his eyes sweetly. "I might have to go out on a limb and blame you for that," he said, tapping her lightly on the tip of the nose with his finger.

"Me?" asked Hawke, surprised. "And here I was thinking you'd got a new cat or something."

"I wish," Anders chuckled, lightly.

The tender scene was shattered with a flicker of blue coursing through Anders's eyes. He instantly looked to the door, tense and alert.

"What is it?" Hawke asked, dropping to the floor beside him.

"Trouble," he answered, not taking his eyes from the door. "Can you hear that… raised voices?"

Now that she listened harder she could make out Martin arguing with someone, though his voice was the only one raised loud enough to hear. "It's a warning," she surmised. "He wants us to know someone is looking for us." With a curse she lifted her hand toward the orb of light she had allowed to illuminate the room. Instantly it was extinguished, plunging the store into darkness.

The two of them ducked to different sides, taking shelter wherever they could. Hawke wasn't sure how long they waited in the black silence for - the fearful consequences of_ that_ night in the Chantry haunting her mind. How stupid had she been to think the Templars would ever give up searching for the ones responsible? And here they were potentially cornered like rats. Could she even trust Martin not to sell them out, he had much to lose. Would Templar's even be interested in the illegality of his stock over the capture of two wanted apostates? There was nothing she could expect Varric or Isabela or even Aveline to do in the circumstance. The Guard had no say over Templar matters. Maker, she was an utter fool.

With a trembling heart Hawke looked across the space to where she knew Anders poised waiting and watchful. How much strain could he cope with before Justice would make an appearance? His will had not – to her knowledge – been tested since the night they'd attempted to rescue Karl. The idea of being trapped alone in here with that side of Anders unleashed was a terrifying prospect.

"Hawke?"

The call was just the other side of the stores secret entrance - a camouflaged panel that pushed inward from the far side and slid off to the right. She was sure she'd recognised the deep timbre of the voice that called her name, but growing panic clouded her judgment and she froze, unable to respond.

"What is this, some kind of joke?" the voice sneered.

_Fenris? _The revelation had her heart doing a strange summersault in her chest as for the briefest second her panic eased knowing they weren't about to be attacked by Templars, to be increased ten-fold with the realisation _that it was Fenris _stood on the other side of the door and she had never, ever intended for he and Anders to meet. He had come after all, but what in Thedas had brought him down to Martin's stock room in search of her? She scowled in the darkness, her mind rapidly putting two and two together and arriving at 'Isabela'.

"Does it look like I'm joking, elf?" asked Martin, dubiously. "There's a hidden door through to my main stock room, but if she's not responding to your shouts… I might have been mistaken thinking she was still here."

"Show me," Fenris demanded, menacingly impatient.

Fear for Martin's safety spurred Hawke to her feet. If she was fortunate she could ease this circumstance before it got out of hand.

"Marian, what are you doing?" Anders hissed from cover as she headed for the door.

"It's alright," she soothed, "I know him."

She was stood by the door as it opened. The flickering light of the lantern Martin held making her squint uncomfortably. Fenris loomed behind him, one hand resting on the long hilt of his great sword ready, eyeing her with a strange mix of caution and contempt.

"Fenris," she greeted warmly, trying to shield her eyes. "You came."

He didn't respond, appearing to look passed her and search the room beyond. The answer was obvious she supposed, but she hadn't realised she was beneath common courtesies too.

"So, I have you to thank for _this _do I_, _Hawke?" said Martin, gesturing angrily at Fenris.

"It would appear so. I must apologise to you both for any confusion. I'm not sure why you would have been directed down here to find me, Fenris." She hoped he might confirm her suspicions about being able to thank Isabela for this, but instead he took an intimidating step toward her, forcing Martin aside, growling, "Where's Anders?"

Several things happened in that instant as Hawke's mind floundered, left only able to repeat Anders's name rather dumbly, her tone questioning 'how in Thedas' Fenris knew about him? Did Isabela really hate her that much?

She heard the crates shift with his weight as Anders stood up behind her. She saw the shock of the two men in front of her - their fearful expressions not befitting the sight a solitary mage should pose rising from his hiding place. Her gaze followed there's to see the horror that was Anders in part transition. His eyes aglow from the power of the Fade Spirit within and lyrium vapours rising off him like steam.

_Maker, no. Not here._ Haunting images of bloody fractured steel piled at his feet flashed into her mind. It had been all that remained of the Templars who had tried to restrain him in the Chantry. "Anders," she pleaded turning to face him, uncaring of the two she left stood at her back or the accusatory snarl from Fenris. "Calm down."

"Stand aside, Marian." Anders's voice was still his own, though it echoed with the power she could see he was fighting to restrain.

"It's alright," she spoke softly, moving forward desperate to give that rational part of his psyche something to latch on to, but he'd been cornered by a threatening unknown who sought him by name.

"You lie," he yelled back, his voice distorting as Justice pressed his will further upon her friend. "I can sense the threat this one poses." His dangerous eyes turned on Fenris. "He is one of them, he shares their beliefs."

Hawke stood her ground. "I'm not lying. He isn't a Templar, Anders. I asked him to come." For an instant, Anders faltered, staring at her unsure. "Please," she pressed.

"Don't seek to defend me from your pet demon, mage." Fenris spat in sudden outrage, pushing her aside and drawing his sword defensively. All hope of restraint was lost in that second.

"Demon?" Anders roared in disgust, lifting his glowing palms.

"Wait! Anders, no!" Hawke cried, leaping in front of Fenris as the spell was unleashed. It was devastatingly fast, too fast for her to counter it fully. Her shield deflected some of the damage before she was blown off her feet and her back hammered into the wall beside the door.

Terror gripped her in the heartbeat of silence it took for her to recover, but before she could find her feet a rippling flash scored across her vision the force of which cracked her head back against the stone.

Pain tore through her skull as she clung to it, vainly hoping to steady herself against the incessant buzzing of a thousand insects that had claimed her head. In a matter of seconds the storeroom was consumed in the chaos of magic and sparking steel. Crates shattered, barrels overturned, collected produce rained from the walls.

"Stop!" she managed to shout out, frantically blinking hazy spots from her eyes.

What she saw then defied belief.

Fenris was a blur of movement, his whole form a transparent blaze of glowing, lyrium veins pulsing with the power he channelled through them. _His markings,_ she realised with a gasp having never witnessed anything so terrifyingly beautiful even with Anders transformed into Vengeance beside him.

As the duel spilled out into Martin's suite she stumbled after them, tripping over Martin's prone form in the panic and confusion. He grunted with the impact. _Thank the Maker he isn't dead_, Hawke thought, though she didn't have time to check him over. She had to stop the madness before it spread, or drew further attention.

Head pounding she took in the scene of destruction that was Martin's room. Both opponents were equally matched whilst Anders was in this state, courting death with every glowing strike as the other countered with lethal intent. They would kill each other before they would back down, or listen to reason. Anger and fear for both of them coursed through her fuelling the audacious part of her nature she normally kept under wraps and she threw herself between them.

"Enough!" she cried furiously, lifting her palms out toward them, summoning the strongest telekinesis she could muster. Neither was prepared for the sudden and powerful intervention and both were sent careering off in opposite directions, crashing over furniture into the walls beyond.

Hawke stood breathless, basking in the stillness, watching and waiting as loose parchment floated to the floor from obliterated ledgers Martin usually had stacked on his table that was no more.

Fenris was the first to stir to life, rolling into a ready crouch. He'd phased back to his normal self, perhaps due to waning stamina. He'd come looking for a fight regardless of whatever Isabela might have said, that much was clear, and Hawke felt little remorse for him as he wiped his bloodied lip with the back of his hand.

Instantly, he stood, his eyes boring into hers hatefully. "I knew you were no better," he condemned.

"You don't know the first thing about me," she said, the calm nature of her response a poor reflection of the fire within. "You just assumed… again." He advanced on her at speed, whirling his sword to attack, but Hawke was ready. "I said, _enough._" A wave of her hand saw the ground rise up about him, smothering his blade and encasing Fenris up to the waist in rock.

"Venhedis, mage!" he raged, futilely pushing against his stony bindings.

She watched his struggles for a moment, angry and resentful that he had forced her to such measures, and completely unsure if a spell could even hold him given his abilities clearly exceeded just phasing an arm. It seemed entirely too mean to inflict further magic upon him given everything his past had, had him endure to become whatever he was, but she had no other means of keeping him contained. Words wouldn't do it. Not yet at any rate. "I won't let you kill each other," she declared, ignoring all further comments he snarled under his breath and looked to see Anders struggling to sit up.

"Maker's breath, Hawke!" Varric exclaimed from the doorway, his eyes saucer wide as he surveyed the scene, Bianca in hand. A glance told her Isabela was with him, but for once words appeared to escape her.

"Tell me _you_ were the only ones who heard all this?" Hawke asked them, kneeling down in front of Anders cautiously. He'd curled in on himself, his head buried in his hands.

"There's no one else up here, Hawke," Varric assured.

_That was something at least._ "Martin's been injured, he's through there." She pointed to the storeroom door highlighting her unspoken command for them to help him; never turning her attention away from Anders. If there was the faintest hint of Justice left… _you'd be dead stooped this close,_ she chastised herself.

His shamed brown eyes slowly lifted to her. "I'm so sorry," he mumbled. "I shouldn't have come."

Unable to find the empathy to disagree at that moment, Hawke simply asked, "Can you stand?"

"I, I think so," he responded shakily.

She reached forward to help him to his feet, making sure his back was rested to the wall before letting go. "I need to check on Martin," she explained, pulling away.

"Maker, what did I do to him?"

"It wasn't just you." Hawke glanced over her shoulder at where Fenris remained trapped by her spell. If he could have killed her with the look he would have. "Between the two of you he got knocked out of the way, I think."

Thankfully, Martin's injuries were superficial. A few scrapes, bruises and a minor concussion. Apparently, it was all nothing a few drinks couldn't cure for him and, Maker, how she wished that were true for her given the shooting pain she was experiencing from the middle of her back to the base of her skull.

The damage to his stock was a different matter. Hawke knew she would have to find the funds to cover it, or at least replacements. Fortunately, most of the damage appeared to have been inflicted upon the potion supplies she'd gathered for the expedition; such loss would set them back several weeks, in brewing time if nothing else. There was little left of her alchemy table and other necessary equipment.

She tried to let the frustration of that fact pass, her fingers curling into a fist that she longed to hammer into… something, watching as Varric led the old raider to the bar, Isabela in tow. She looked back at Hawke before disappearing out the door, her face undeniably apologetic, but whatever her intentions had been in this Hawke knew she didn't have the patience to listen right now. With an irritable shake of the head she turned her attention back to the real issue at hand.

Both men had remained where she had left them, Fenris's glare only shifting from Anders as Hawke approached him. Without a word of warning she released him, the conjured stone vanishing into the ether. She hoped the suddenness of the action would catch him by surprise and spare her having to knock them both out again. Anders shifted uneasily with the elf's freedom, but Fenris could only collapse to his knees relishing the blood supply returned to his legs.

"So," she began again, reaching back to place a comforting hand on Anders arm, "You came after all."

"You asked me to," Fenris growled, leaning on his sword trying to find his feet.

"I did," she agreed. "What I hadn't anticipated was Isabela thinking it amusing to have you two forced into a meeting. I assume that's what happened?" Fenris said nothing, choosing to stare darkly at the patch of floor in front of him. She shook her head, briefly considering the words she would have with the rogue when this situation was dealt with. Finally, she shrugged, resigned, "Anders this is Fenris, Fenris this is Anders." Both men stared at like she'd gone mad. "What?" she asked, voice brimming with sarcasm. "Why not get acquainted before you kill each other. Anders is a…"

"I know what he is," Fenris cut in angrily.

"Do you?" asked Hawke, "I was going to say 'a very skilled healer'."

He scowled. "Yes, I'm sure that's just one of many _skills."_

"Why did you even come, Fenris? You clearly have no wish to work with me when you're so quick to assume the worst?"

"Assume? One free mage was concern enough - now I find out there is two of you. Did you really expect me to react differently?"

"I expected a certain amount of leeway, perhaps a moment to explain."

"Tell that to your pet. I did not start this fight."

"No, but you came looking for it. Even when all you found were two terrified apostates hiding in the dark."

"It was an honest mistake," Anders said quietly, moving forward. "I… overreacted. I didn't know who you were, or that Marian was expecting you. Clearly you have no love for mages as is your right. We are often misjudged. The actions of a few tainting people's perceptions of us as a whole. That is something I find _difficult_ to cope with." Hawke watched Fenris's eyes narrow with derision. "_We_ can never be too careful, but for my part in this I am sorry."

She could tell how much the apology cost Anders's pride. He'd already been laid bare by Justice and now had to cope with the aftermath of a confrontation he'd had little to no control over.

Fenris sneered, "Your remorse means nothing to me _abomination_."

Anders flinched at the word and guilt for having thought the exact same thing about him initially spiked Hawke's anger further. "He isn't an abomination," she snapped, standing protectively in front of him.

"You believe he is somehow different, harmless, just because _you_ wish it? You're a fool."

"I should go," Anders murmured.

Hawke reached for him as he staggered for the door. "Anders, wait I'm…" she began, her apology interrupted as he lifted his palm.

"Now is just not the time for this, whatever _this_ is," he added, gesturing idly in Fenris's direction. "I need to get back to my patients."

She tried to respond again, searching his eyes for some level of understanding, but all she could see was a vain attempt to hide an underlying accusation: _You should have told me! Warned me!_

"Will you be alright?" he asked the sincerity of his concern for her lost the instant his gaze lifted and hardened into a glare at the elf stood behind her.

She knew then, this was just the beginning of something that would never be right between them. How could it be? With a sigh, she nodded, "Yes."

Hawke remained in the doorway for some time after Anders had left, her arms folded protectively across her chest as she rested her aching back to the frame, waiting for the real fight to begin. She could feel the weight of Fenris's dark glare boring into the side of her skull, but couldn't bring herself to face him.

"I'm not holding you to anything, you know?" she said at length. "My reasons for asking you here haven't changed, but I can understand if your reasons for coming have altered."

She felt rather than heard his forbidding presence draw closer. "Is that all I'm to expect?" he asked.

"What else are you waiting for? You clearly have no time for explanations."

He made to leave and in an moment of madness, desperate to keep Anders safe, Hawke reached out barring the way. "Just, for your sake and his, leave Anders alone," she demanded.

"Is that a threat, mage?" Fenris asked contemptuously, eyeing her outstretched arm, no doubt considering breaking through it as he easily could.

"No, it's a warning. I would not wish either of you hurt, Fenris, whatever you might think to the contrary. Please, if for no other reason than to consider your debt to me repaid, just leave him be."

He regarded her for a long moment, his dark eyes cold and uncaring. "You really are a fool," he said derisively and pushed her out of the way.

* * *

><p>* Ida is character from my other short 'Connection'. She's an assistant to Anders in the Clinic.<p> 


	4. Long Way Home

A/N - Another wait... though no so long as before. :-S Sorry if this feels a bit like a bridging chapter. I'd been in two minds as to whether to post it, but it offers some back story for following chapters.

Thank you again to all of you who have expressed your enjoyment of this by alerting, favouriting and taking the time to write a review. I love to hear what you think, and equally feel guilty that I can't get it updated quicker for you at the moment.

* * *

><p>Moments in Time – Brief Encounters<p>

Long way home

Hawke looked up from tending a deep cut across Varric's brow to see Fenris pacing relentlessly. He kept to the very edge of the ruined structure she'd forced them to pause by, determined to take some amount of shelter from the constant drizzle as she assessed the group's injuries.

His dark focus remained intent on the ancient elven burial grounds they had finally escaped. Hawke was grateful for that at least. She knew she would have to deal with his undeniable contempt of the situation eventually, but she had no idea where to begin making things right with him - not that anything was right before today_._

Isabela had no such qualms.

Boots kicked off, she lounged alluringly to one end of the new path Fenris was carving into the mountainside with his strides, her long bare legs stretched out in the damp grass as she made idle chat and set about cleaning her well-loved daggers. For all the response Fenris gave she'd have done better communing with a stone, but she seemed undeterred none-the-less.

"Subtle, that one," Varric offered sarcastically, following Hawke's line of sight.

"As a brick to the head," she added with chagrin, looking back to the task of dabbing the poultice over Varric's face. He winced in pain. "I'm not sure 'subtlety' features in Isabela's vocabulary."

Varric chuckled wanly. "She's not forgiven then?" he asked, taking the poultice from Hawke's hand and holding it to his head.

"I'm plotting elaborate revenge as we speak," she promised, her words light for Varric's sake though her frustration with Isabela's foray into her personal life was far from over.

Varric adjusted how he was sitting, struggling to get comfortable as he winced again. "Honestly," he grimaced, "I think she thought to do you a favour, in her way." Hawke huffed in disbelief. "Give her credit for trying," he suggested.

"Oh, I do. I give her credit for being _extremely_ trying," Hawke griped, attempting to lighten the mood again and hide her concern for Varric's injured state behind the jibe. She failed miserably.

"Don't look at me like that, I'm alright," he assured, lifting the poultice away to reveal the blood stained swabbing. He shrugged at the sight. "Or, I will be… in a bit."

With a disparaging shake of the head Hawke reached forward summoning what healing magic she could to help him. "That a good idea?" Varric asked, realising what she intended. He pulled away glancing over at Fenris. "He looks pissed enough."

"He has good reason," Hawke replied, feeling it was only by some small miracle Fenris had remained given _everything_. She still had no idea how Varric had convinced him to come along today in the first place.

"And I hate to say it, but have you _seen_ you?" Varric continued, concernedly. "I've seen more colour in a ghost, Hawke, seriously."

Considering how drained she felt that was hardly surprising. "If I had a mirror I'd show you pale," she retorted, eyes narrowing. "I'm not going to neglect my duty to you as a healer regardless of Fenris, or my pallor, Varric. I wouldn't be surprised if you've cracked your skull. Besides," she added with half a shrug, "I'm always this colour, what's your excuse?"

Resigned, he slumped in place cursing under his breath, "_Sodding shadow assassins._"

Hawke laughed. "Would you hate me very much if I said that sounded like Bartrand?"

The look he gave her suggested it was likely. "Careful, there's only so much a guy can take."

Smiling empathetically Hawke rested her fingers to Varric's forehead and allowed the waves of healing to wash over him. "I'm sorry I can't let you have longer to recover," she whispered through her efforts, "we just can't stay here."

"On a mountain full of restless dead," Varric groaned, his relief clear as her magic took effect. "Seems like a perfect spot to me."

Hawke poured all her remaining reserves into the spell, feeling a sickly emptiness fill her being in place of her mana. _Better this than anything else_, she thought, taking comfort in the sight of the bleeding gash being reduced to a puckered scar across Varric's forehead.

"It's not perfect," she said a short time later, tiredly checking over her work. "I'm no expert like Anders, but it will get you home."

Varric smiled at her, "Who needs perfection? I prefer your bedside manner."

"It certainly wouldn't hurt to keep that poultice there a little while longer," she advised, sitting back on her heels. With a faint nod Varric lifted it to his head again.

A thoughtful silence overtook them and Hawke closed her eyes, enjoying the gentle pattering of rain on her skin and the fresh breeze. She rolled her neck hoping to relieve the tension knotted there and succeeded in reminding herself of how she hadn't gotten off scot-free in last night's violence.

She'd actually indulged in a healing potion after - a terrible thing to do given their now short supplies, but in the end she'd had little will to care. It had done its job at the time, giving her the strength to begin sorting through the broken chaos of Martin's store and check that the contents of the upper floor remained mercifully untouched - another small miracle to add to the growing collection, but now? Her insides were shaking, her head ached, and it was an effort just to move her eyes. If she were to compare the symptoms to anything recognisable it was like mild influenza. An affliction she did not want to get used to given this was the third time in as many days that her mana had been spent and she was left suffering.

If such depletions were a glimpse of things to come she might have to resort to lyrium potions – a very unappealing prospect for many reasons – or source some recipes to at least counteract the less than wholesome side-effects. Some distant, playful part of her mind thought 'chicken soup' sounded nice, whilst another more serious part thought it odd that such remedies hadn't been necessary before. Perhaps it was her lack of experience using destructive spells so extensively. They were a greater strain on her will after all.

Her eyes strayed back to Fenris then wondering if that really was all it was.

Could it be possible she'd been trying to prove something by pushing herself to such extremes?

"_They_ were going to meet eventually, right?" Varric asked suddenly, eyeing her from beneath the poultice; clearly wondering at her apparent interest in the elf.

"Who?" she asked, feigning ignorance. She knew he was referring to Fenris and Anders.

"Who else?" he remarked, slightly exasperated.

_Who else indeed_? "It hadn't been something I'd intended, no," Hawke sighed, soothing the tension of her furrowed brow with her thumb and finger.

"Care to indulge me?"

She arched an eyebrow at him. "It's complicated."

"What isn't these days?" said Varric, closing his eyes with a knowing smile. "It certainly seems that Blondie has become a more prominent feature in your personal life lately. You've had quite a major role to play down at the Clinic for the past fortnight."

"How do you know that?" she asked shocked, knowing she'd gone to some effort to keep her movements quiet. After they'd failed to rescue Karl and left a company of Templar Knights dead in the Chantry it seemed a sensible precaution.

"Please, Hawke, give me some credit. I have to keep an eye on things, wouldn't want my business partner tumbling down a nug-hole never to be heard from again. So, what goes on, you and Blondie a 'thing' now?" Varric sounded casual enough, but he couldn't quite shake the disquiet edge to his expression.

"No," she answered, quickly looking away as she blushed. There was definitely something between her and Anders, but to say it was more than a sense of 'kindred spirit' given the circumstance would be ridiculous, dangerous… _truthful_? She shook her head confounded.

"Then why are you keeping your visits to Darktown a secret from Junior?"

Hawke folded her arms across her chest. "I wasn't aware that I was keeping secrets," she answered irritably. "Would it be enough to say, 'it's none of Carver's business what I do.'?"

"No, not really," Varric replied, removing the poultice from his face to look at her fully. "But only because I knew that already. Plus, if it were true there'd be no reason for him to be in the dark. He'd bitch about it, you'd burn him with a look, I'd say something witty, we'd go get pissed; everyone's happy. What's changed?"

Hawke looked skyward. This wasn't the time to be talking about all this, especially as she was having difficulty forming coherent thoughts in her current state, but Varric's prodding was presenting an irresistible avenue to vent upon. He was the only one she could really talk to.

"Carver wouldn't understand," she said at length. "I'm not sure I understand myself." A long silence followed as she searched her mess of thoughts for the words to explain. "Since Beth died I've been alone, even surrounded by family. They blame me as much as I blame myself for what happened to her. I know what Anders is, Varric, or at least what he has the potential to be. I understand the risk of being near him, but I can't get away from the fact that it feels _good, _and for no reason other than it's nice to have that 'mage' connection again. I've missed it. I hadn't told anyone where I was going because…"

"You didn't want to risk losing it," Varric realised and Hawke slowly nodded.

"Carver wouldn't understand," she repeated, her eyes welling with moisture as other buried feelings began to surface with the words. "He's so… caught up in himself."

"In hiding in your shadow you mean," Varric corrected gently. Hawke couldn't help but stare back at him for a moment, his astute reply hitting the mark exactly. "Just an observation," he shrugged.

"A keen one," Hawke sniffed, desperate to steer her mind back to the original point. "As far as Fenris not knowing about Anders, I couldn't see that it was necessary. He hadn't asked and I was apparently 'concern enough'. If Anders was a part of the group it would have been different, but he isn't really. I guess I was just trying to keep two very jumbled and potentially opposing parts of my life as separate as possible."

"Maker, Hawke, '_opposing parts of your life_'?" Varric laughed, rolling his eyes, "Possibly the understatement of the Age." He fell quiet for a moment, contemplating what he learned. "You're normally so straight laced, but these are some pretty fancy knots you're tying yourself up in, you realise."

She smiled bitterly. "Turns out I was just being naïve. Maybe Isabela _did_ do me a favour."

"She thought that's how you'd see it, eventually."

"If they had to meet, _last night_ wasn't exactly when or how I would have chosen it to happen."

"Me neither, Hawke, believe me," agreed Varric, the disquiet edge returning to his expression. She understood his concern. The whole thing could have gone a lot worse given the parties involved. They'd been lucky, dumbly so.

"I certainly could have done without the resulting drama or the clean-up," she added, looking to see Fenris acknowledging Isabela's existence. She was hard to ignore for long - Hawke knew, she'd tried, but now was left idly wondering what could have been said to have garnered a response finally. It had been enough to stop Fenris's pacing at any rate. "I really hadn't expected to see him again," she said quietly, thinking on how he'd forced his way passed her and stormed out of the Hanged Man.

"For all Elf's hang ups, he's alone; has been for years by the sounds," Varric explained. "He needs the coin and he'd rather earn it than steal it - seems pretty honourable on that score." Hawke agreed with that. "Maybe if there was other work to be had he'd take it, but I reckon a part of him feels better off with the demon he knows for now. No offense."

"Is that what he said when you somehow managed to get him to come along today?"

"Not in so many words," Varric smiled.

_Wonderful_, thought Hawke, laughing mirthlessly to herself.

"But you still haven't told me," he prompted further.

"Told you what?" she asked.

"Why _he's_ so necessary in the first place? It was a decent sum of coin he paid us that you just gave back."

"For a job we didn't do, Varric," Hawke answered, though she knew the words were redundant, if they confronted Danarius tomorrow she wouldn't accept payment.

"You can tell that to everyone else, but I was there remember, you nearly died… twice!"

Hawke rolled her eyes, "I did not nearly die," she hissed reproachfully.

"To suggest we didn't earn the coin is ridiculous," said Varric, lifting his chin in Fenris's direction. "I know he's got that whole dark, broody thing going for him."

"_Please,_" Hawke objected, she'd been completely honest in her indifference to the looks that Isabela raved about.

"Then what is it?"

"I need him," she answered simply.

Varric chuckled with disbelief, "Why?"

"Because… I'm not taking Carver into the Deep Roads."

Varric sat up straighter, the full gravity of such a decision becoming clear. "_Shit_, does he know?" He whistled through his teeth, swearing again as Hawke shook her head in answer. "Did I say _fancy_ knots before? Check that, these are full on half hitches."

"I know," she muttered in agreement, rubbing at her temples, staving off the flood of emotion that was threatening just beneath the surface.

"It's one way to get him from underfoot, I guess. Let him start living his own life."

"Maker, Varric, he won't see it like that. It'll be a betrayal in his eyes. Perhaps it is, but after Beth how can I…" Her voice faltered as guilt stabbed her heart.

"You said it yourself that Junior has the experience when it comes to Darkspawn," Varric reminded.

"He does," Hawke agreed, turning her attention to the dusky skies and frowning at the lateness of the hour. Carver's experience was irrelevant. Though she couldn't imagine anyone more capable of facing Darkspawn than Fenris, the cold, harsh truth of the matter remained that she would sooner see him die down in the Deep Roads than risk losing her brother. Beth's loss had already been too much.

"It'll be full dark before we reach the camp at this rate," she said, hoping to drop the troubling subject before she succumbed to it. Varric, ever aware, acquiesced and didn't prod further. "I don't expect a welcome when we get there either," she added, her gaze briefly resting on her newest charge.

Merrill was sat only a short distance away privy to their on-going conversation, but appearing totally oblivious as she stared with eerie intensity at a flower she cupped in her palm. Hawke suspected she was simply trying to keep her distance from Fenris and couldn't blame her for that.

"Not unless by 'welcome' you mean a pincushion for an ass," Varric agreed under his breath.

_Colourful but true_, thought Hawke, the entire Dalish clan bar their Keeper, Marathari, had been more than willing to express their fierce resentment of 'shemlens'. Merrill was no stranger to their disregard either, yet for no reason Hawke could fathom beyond the elf wanting to leave the clan. The way they spoke of her, to her, it was hard to bear even without any personal interest in the case.

Merrill was certainly the most bizarre mix of determination and nerves Hawke had ever come across, shyly rambling through a simple 'hello' one second to casting devastating spells the next. There was an ancient feel to her magic, an untameable ferocity that didn't sit well with the timid façade. It was an unnerving combination. One only compounded further by her "_demons are only spirits, too_" philosophy. She also appeared completely remiss of the discomfort she'd caused with her flagrant use of blood magic, despite the sudden violence of _certain_ objections. Hawke wondered if she should truly be surprised. From what she had seen Merrill was used to opposition and stubborn in the face of it. She was what she was, doing what she felt she had to; for that she offered no apology and sought no forgiveness, claiming it was other's short sighted prejudices that were at fault.

_Blood magic_, such inclinations did not sit well with Hawke though she doubted Fenris would believe it - especially after she had prevented him from 'physically' responding to that particular unpleasant development. It seemed barring his way in defence of other mages was becoming somewhat of a dangerous habit for her.

He'd have killed Merrill, Hawke was certain, but somehow regardless of their current outlook on her she doubted the Dalish would have taken kindly to the strange little blood mage having her heart ripped out - not that Merrill wouldn't have done some serious damage beforehand.

The brief altercation between the two elves had actually been the first time Fenris had spoken more than two words to Hawke since the previous night. She laughed inwardly, wondering if _"get out of the way, mage!"_ could really qualify, though it was undoubtedly direct.

What had followed, however, was less than helpful.

More undead, more magic and the revelation that _she'd_ been harbouring 'a piece' of the legendary Flemmeth in an amulet for over a year. That Hawke had been innocently unaware the entire time was unlikely to fly as an excuse in Fenris's eyes, particularly after the Witch had succeeded in getting under his skin so efficiently.

_Maker! H__ow was I to know a simple delivery was going to turn into deliver an amulet, _and_? Without doubt, unleashing the Witch of the Wilds on the northern hemisphere, and guiding a Dalish blood mage back to Kirkwall 'safely' had not been on my to-do list today. _

_Silly Marian, have you learnt nothing over the past few weeks? If ever 'simple' is used to describe anything you should know to expect anything but._

"We should move on."

Hawke jumped, realising only then how lost she'd been in her own head. She looked up to see Fenris looming over her, his glowering expression beautifully reciprocated by the thunderous clouds gathering above Sundermount's peak behind him.

"Agreed," she said, finding her feet and drawing up her hood. The incessant drizzle was about to get a lot worse.

* * *

><p>Hawke opened her eyes, squinting into the surrounding darkness to find the ashy remains of the camp fire and her dozing companions still huddled around the memory of its warmth. She'd been restless before sleep had claimed her, stiff and aching from the long dissent and soaked to the bone in spite of her cloak's best efforts.<p>

Gingerly she lifted her head looking toward the mouth of the small cave they'd rushed to take shelter in. She saw Fenris partly silhouetted against the early morning sky staring out into the distance. He'd been the only one to resist the draw of the fire despite being worse off than any of them with no extra layers to protect him from the torrential weather. He'd set himself apart, remaining at the entrance under the guise of taking the first watch and with a pang of guilt Hawke now realised he'd been there all night. He must have been frozen.

Knowing the decision to stay awake had been his and his reasons should be respected, she rolled onto her side and tried to settle again – doubting concern for his well-being would be welcome given _she_ was the most likely cause of any distress.

Several minutes past, however, and Hawke found she was still watching him. Her healer- leader instincts bravely demanding she get up and force him to rest, whilst her survival instincts cowered in a corner hoping they hadn't really noticed anything amiss. It was ridiculous, but tired as she was and without the added bonus of adrenaline, Fenris became a far more threatening prospect.

_He doesn't look over tired_, she mused, hoping to content both sides of her conscience and noting how the quiet and solitude seemed to bring him some amount of peace. She could sympathise. Time to sit and let a tangled state of mind blissfully unravel was rare treat; one she was loathed to take from him.

For all his surliness Fenris was quite _beautiful_ really, though Hawke would never say so aloud. To do so would likely cause offence and encourage Isabela's already incorrigible manner - something to be seriously avoided. Besides, there was nothing wanting in her appraisal. His exotic appearance only made her wonder what he had looked like before _Danarius,_ but it was no secret that Hawke found the Elven race a fair one. They were always so lithe and elegant, their features angular and defined with those wide expressive eyes. Yet, most she had ever come across seemed fragile too, a consequence of decades of oppression eating away at them like rust. Even the Dalish for all their fortitude appeared delicate somehow.

Fenris was different.

From the moment she first saw him marching down the steps into the Alienage, exuding an air of confidence in himself that few could boast, Hawke knew there was nothing fragile about him. _Of course it's easy to be so self-assured when someone else has done your dirty work for you,_ she smiled to herself, remembering how annoyed Varric had been about that. Chuntering right up to the point of witnessing Fenris punch through a man's chest without pause, after which his objections had fallen strangely flat.

Hawke couldn't imagine Fenris being enslaved. The very idea of 'collaring' such a force of nature beggared belief, especially to see him now. The fresh morning breeze was lifting his white fringe from his face revealing his proud elven profile as he sat poised and vigilant, one long leg drawn up and his arm resting casually over his knee, his equally beautiful great sword unsheathed and faintly gleaming beside him. Awestruck, Hawke realised he could have been an image straight from some fairy tale legend based in the Pre-Ages she would have loved as a child - then he looked at her.

Maker, she'd never wished for the earth to swallow her up so fast, but even if a hole had appeared beneath her at that very moment she doubted his hard glare - something she could feel rather than see in the dark - would have let her fall to a timely demise. She'd already gathered that his eyesight was far superior and doubted whether being shrouded in darkness could have hidden how intently she was staring at him, or how much she was now blushing as a result.

He shook his head muttering something she was glad she couldn't understand and reached for the water skin beside him. Instantly she noticed how strained the action was though he fought hard to hide it. He was favouring his sword arm more than someone with his level of expertise would normally do even after such an arduous day. Something was wrong.

_That damn wound he took in the mansion_, Hawke realised, guilt gripping her again with the knowledge Fenris had been nursing it through all recent difficulties and she'd never made sure he was alright. In her defence he hadn't felt particularly approachable and her previously offered assistance had only caused him more grief, but it was a poor excuse. One she would have to get over and quickly if she really wanted him to come on the expedition.

With a deep breath she sat up, her resolve faltering the instant his head turned toward her again. He watched her slow progress as she stiffly got to her feet and started toward him, but by the time she was stood next to him he was scowling out at the dawn.

_How do you reach out to someone you know would sooner cast you adrift with a smile on their face? _

_You don't,_ she answered, biting her bottom lip nervously. _Though the smile _would_ be a first from Fenris. I wonder if it would be worth it._

"The idea of taking watch is that it's done in turns you realise," she said, making a point of keeping her voice quiet, keen not to rouse the others.

It took a while for him to respond, though he still didn't look at her when he did. "Did you mean to accomplish something coming over here?" Something in the way he asked made Hawke believe there was more to the question, but she didn't challenge it.

"Besides offer you the chance at a couple of hours sleep, you mean?" she asked, tucking wayward strands of hair behind her ears. She looked down at her attire. "Well how about my cloak too, it should be dry by now." A quick feel proved it to be so and Hawke began untying the laces under her chin.

"Keep it," Fenris said abruptly, realising what she was doing.

With a sigh Hawke sat down opposite him and folded her arms across her chest mirroring his defensive posture. "The concern was genuine. You must be frozen; you've been sat here exposed all night."

He gave no response.

"You could try to get some sleep. We still have a long way to travel today."

Again - no response.

Hawke shrugged in a manner she hoped appeared uncaring, holding back the '_Void with you then_' on the tip of her tongue, and stared out into the early morning mists.

She quickly lost track of how long they sat in silence, it could have been minutes or hours, but the world was a little brighter when she ventured several curious glances Fenris's way. He was still very much awake, staring intently at the cave wall somewhere above her head. A few moments considering this and Hawke felt slightly nervous. She had to look – if only to be sure he wasn't bitter enough to watch some large spider descend on her without warning.

"Was it worth it?" he asked suddenly.

Hawke blinked, pulling her gaze away from checking the empty expanse of rock above her. "I'm sorry?"

"Your… _bargain_," he reiterated with a growl, turning away to look into the distance the instant their eyes met.

"My bargain?" Hawke questioned, struggling to catch up with his sudden terseness. His dark brows knotted together irritably. "You mean with Flemmeth? It saved my family, Fenris. How could I say it wasn't worth it?" _My only regret is not being able to do it sooner._

"_That _doesn't inspire confidence."

"I'd imagine not," Hawke replied, doubting if anything she did, could, in his eyes. "Tell me though, what would you have done in my place?" Something about the question drew him to look at her sharply. "Delivering an amulet didn't feel like too higher price to pay. I didn't know -"

"Spare me," Fenris scoffed, cutting off her.

"Fine," Hawke seethed, fighting back a wordier retort. She didn't owe him an explanation, yet given he'd asked she would have preferred the chance to respond. "I'm not trying to earn your favour, Fenris. _Andraste's Mercy_, I'd be off to a terrible start if I were."

"Yet, you would claim your innocence."

"I never said I was innocent. What I started to say was 'I didn't know' which is the unfortunate truth. If I'd thought about it I probably could have guessed the nature of the amulet, but I confess my mind has been otherwise engaged."

"Yes, _petting_ abominations."

Hawke's eyes widened, "_Excuse me_?"

Fenris shook his head angrily. "You _knew_ what _she –Flemmeth-_ was when you agreed to her terms, you willingly followed a blood mage allowing her to perform a ritual unleashing whatever powers the amulet held and you still speak as if the price of your bargain has been paid? Do you have no regard for the lives endangered by your actions?"

It was a damning assessment. "I knew Flemmeth was a powerful apostate, but I had no idea the power she was describing was even possible."

"So you would claim to be a victim?"

"No, I would claim to be fallible. The burden of my choices is not a weight for you to bear, however. _By the Maker_ - I'm not so naïve as to be unaware of the consequences myself."

"Which only proves how dangerous you are," he reproved. "I have seen all manner of spirits, demons, witches and abominations, but I still have no idea what you have had me help you unleash, _venhedis mage._"

"_This_ is getting us nowhere," Hawke fumed, getting to her feet, all hope of finding an amicable way to look at his injury lost. "I think you forget yourself or perhaps Varric wasn't clear when he convinced you to come out here with us. Let me make it clear now: You fight; I pay you; that's it. If ever that becomes too greater task for you to cope with then you're free to leave."

Given the harshness of her reply Hawke hadn't expected the slight softening of his rigid demeanour, his shoulders visibly relaxing... a bit. She tried to consider what she had actually said to cause such a reaction, but her words escaped her, the heat of the moment disappearing as she took a breath to calm down.

"I need to look at your arm," she demanded, no longer willing to beat around the bush.

"What?" he snarled, instantly defensive again.

"Your arm," she repeated, looking to the bloodied bandage wrapped around it.

"No."

"No? Fenris, if you can't fight I can't pay you. Quite the conundrum, I know, but I can help if you'll let me," Hawke explained, fighting and failing to contain her sarcasm completely.

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "You've done enough."

"Apparently not," said Hawke, her eyes still fixed on his arm. "I can see from here that your bandage needs changing at the very least. I have several salves and a fresh poultice. You can do it all yourself if you must, but I need to check it over your blood could be poisoned." Considering he'd had no time to recover and no proper medical care in the first place it seemed possible.

"No," he said flatly.

"A wound like that not properly treated could kill you," she continued, keen to make him understand how serious his condition was. "Please," she reiterated, moving closer to him. "Let me help you."

He moved so fast Hawke barely had enough time to register the light glint off his great sword before she felt the point at her throat. She froze. "Don't push me, _mage_!" he snarled.

She could feel her whole body trembling with fear and adrenaline as she gritted her teeth and said, "My _name_ is Hawke, Fenris, and I don't start fights, but you already know I can finish them."

His retort was lost as he reeled in sudden agony, his massive sword falling from his grasp and clattering heavily on the ground. Swearing under his breath he clutched at his injured arm looking up at Hawke accusingly.

She lifted her palms. "I didn't do anything," she whispered adamantly glancing over to see Varric and Merril awakened. Only Isabela remained fast asleep, snoring faintly.

"What is it?" Varric asked, rousing himself further.

"It's nothing," Hawke lied swiftly, wanting Varric to rest as much as he could and not wanting to put Fenris on the spot. "Just taking watch, go back to sleep. We didn't mean to wake you."

It didn't take long for the others to settle again, but it felt like a life time to be held in Fenris's black glare.

"Please," she asked, looking to his arm; hoping he could see her sincere concern. He swore again, anxiously checking over the state of the bandage for himself till Hawke bravely inched closer. His dark eyes shot back to her freezing her in place.

"No magic," he growled.

"Truthfully, I can't promise that it's not necessary. Not without looking, but if it's not needed I won't use it."

He considered her words for a moment, studying her sceptically as he had before. "Fetch your supplies then," he said, and turned his attention to the removal of his armour. Hawke was left briefly stunned by the sudden consent, but spun on her heal to retrieve her satchel from by the fire ring.

On her return Fenris had completely removed the armour from his right arm and turned so his right side was more accessible. He waited for Hawke to set herself down beside him before removing the bandaging. She could feel her scowl deepening with every twist of the fabric, the dark red colour of blood deepening the further it unravelled till his injury was revealed.

It was clear the demon had done a thorough job, it was an ugly tear; one that was bleeding freely again. The light of the morning alone wasn't good enough for her to see the surrounding tissue and assess any infections, however.

"I need more light," she said, breaking the idea to him gently. "Would you mind if I…" she let the question hang as she gestured.

He obviously knew what she meant. "Is this not enough?" he asked, looking to the dawn light.

"My eyes aren't as good as yours," Hawke answered truthfully.

He looked puzzled, clearly over thinking her words before turning away again shaking his head. Without further discussion she ignited an orb of light and set it hovering just above her left shoulder. What it revealed was not pleasant. The wound was clearly infected, swollen and discoloured, dark tendrils of poison snaking away from the site over his skin leaving it bruised.

"Maker, Fenris," she uttered in horror, unable to conceive how he'd been able to lift his sword, let alone fight. "This is possibly more than salves and a poultice can deal with."

"Just do what you must," he ground out with a hiss, his body tensing as he leaned away from her; beads of sweat glistening over his exposed skin. Hawke was certain if it had been possible for him to remove his arm for her to treat it he would have done. It was as if her very presence caused him more pain than the injury.

Like lightning the epiphany struck.

It wasn't the pain - though he was clearly afflicted. Fenris was afraid. He was afraid of magic; he was afraid of_ her_. The notion altered her perspective dramatically and he was no longer recoiling from her in contempt - well, not completely. He was recoiling as if she were about to hurt him. _Was she?_ Hawke didn't know how her magic would effect the lyrium beneath his skin. He was right she was a fool. She'd been so caught up in her own fear of his hate that she hadn't truly thought through the obviousness of why he felt the way he did.

"I don't want to hurt you," she soothed. His eyes found hers again, confused and cautious. "Let me see what I can do with the salves. It needs cleaning," she explained looking to the wound, "and I'll most likely need magic to seal you up as I've got no means of stitching you together; the pressure of a bandage alone isn't enough."

He didn't respond so Hawke simply set about doing 'what she must' - rubbing her cold hands together to warm them before touching him. Her methods were always clean and systematic her deft hands moving gently to the task. The wound was clean and treated in a matter of minutes, now all that was left was the magic. "May I?" she asked, drawing his attention again. For the first time his trepidation was clear, though maybe it was because she was looking for it this time. He didn't answer. "Will my doing this hurt you?" she urged.

"Why do you ask so many questions? I've already said, 'do what you must.'"

"It's because I was honest when I said, 'I don't want to hurt you.'"

He shook his head furiously, "You will," he snapped.

"For that I'm sorry, Fenris. I'll be quick."

Hawke closed her eyes taking a moment to find her centre. Her reserves were still low despite the extra sleep she'd been allowed and she knew the summoning of her power would require more concentration than normal. Slowly, but surely, the magic swirled into existence in her palm and she began to manipulate the flow of energy, reining it in, condensing it to a size no wider than the point of her fore finger. Focused, she opened her eyes, distantly aware of Fenris's tense stare as she reached forward barely skimming the surface of his wounded flesh with her finger.

Out of nowhere Fenris's arm erupted in a blinding flash of white-blue light that made Hawke fall back in shock. Panic stricken, she squinted through the blast to see him curled in on himself, such a reaction to her magic clearly catching him of guard as he attempted to conceal the brightness bodily.

"Fenris?" Hawke whispered, unnerved as he bit back a cry, the fingers of his good hand gripping into the rock beside him.

Finally the brightness began to fade and he fell back, breathless. "What did you do?" he muttered angrily.

Hawke moved carefully back to his side unable to answer straight away, her eyes locked on where his wound had been. Not a trace of it remained, not even a scar. Uncomprehending, she looked up into his face. "I... healed you," she said faintly.


	5. The Dream

Moments in Time – Brief Encounters

The Dream

The smell of incense was stifling, lingering in the air like a foul mist that could not completely disguise the iron scent of blood. His Master lay sleeping, sated by the power he'd augmented and peaceful in the knowledge that his ever faithful '_little wolf_' watched over him - _and_ his long dead victim sprawled at the foot of the bed.

Fenris couldn't say how long he'd stared into those lifeless eyes, but it was long enough to see an accusation in them. _Why did you let this happen?_ they challenged. A question Fenris was silently torturing himself with. His fear derived from a life of servitude quailed it was not his place to intervene in such matters, whilst his anger roared, simmering in the darkness at the core of his being claiming it was only mages killing mages, why should he care?

Either way, those dead eyes still stared.

Riven had been his name some twelve hours ago. A young elven mage, barely a man, sold to Danarius's house to pay off another Magister's debt. Of course the debt had been fabricated by design for this very purpose. Riven had been a favourite of his Master's for months, ever since his powerful abilities had been show cased before the Senate - now his life's blood stained his long auburn hair and the pale silken sheets crumpled beneath him. He hadn't made a sound as Danarius had carved his designs into his flesh such was the power of the thrall he was under.

Feeling sick, Fenris dragged his eyes away.

Sooner or later, Hadriana and her entourage would come and remove the body. For once Fenris wished for the former. He would sooner suffer her then be left standing here suffering this, but no doubt his macabre vigil was by design also. The _conniving bitch_ wasn't beyond such practises. It would suit her constant need to torture him by any means possible.

Despite his anger he dutifully reached for the hilt of Lethendralis as the chamber door creaked open. He stood poised, ready and willing to strike anyone down should they prove a danger to his sleeping Master.

Five forlorn looking slaves entered, expertly masking their feelings toward the sight that greeted them. They paid no heed to Fenris, familiar enough with his intimidating presence to no longer be alarmed by it. How rapidly such complacency would vanish if he was forced to act, but for now it was enough that they simply understood his potential. They didn't need to know the certain pleasure he'd take in the physicality of violence should it become necessary.

Wondering desolately what he had become at the hands of magic he let Lethendralis slide back into its scabbard and watched as the slaves set about 'cleaning up'. All evidence of this matter - _This murder_, his conscience growled furiously - would be destroyed now and not a soul would mention Riven's name again. It would be as if he'd never existed and this foul night had never happened.

_Is it wrong that I take some comfort in that?_ Fenris asked inwardly, observing the strange delicacy with which the slaves wrapped Riven's corpse in the ruined sheets before finally hauling him away. His insides clenched uncomfortably at the sight, his mind swiftly refuting such a ridiculous question_. _

A long shadow fell across the floor as Hadriana's darkened figure appeared in the doorway. Even in silhouette it was easy for Fenris to see the playful smile that caught her lips as she halted the slave's progress.

"Spent already?" she asked, casually pulling the bloodied covers aside to observe Riven's dead face. Her voice was barely more than a hiss, but still managed to carry all the jealous loathing she had shown the young mage in life. "What a pity," she muttered, bored, and let the material drop to wave the slaves passed.

"Whatever will Master Danarius find to play with now?" She sauntered into the chamber as she spoke, her vibrant, icy blue eyes lingering on where Danarius slept before turning on Fenris meaningfully. He looked down in respect of her status, knowing all too well what she implied. "You'd think he'd learn to savour a good thing by now. Don't you agree, _little wolf_?"

Fenris said nothing. What could he say? It didn't matter how many favourites Danarius had, if they could be collared or used they would be. _He_ was no exception to that. He was merely fortunate that Danarius hadn't grown tired of him. The day that changed, however, he knew Hadriana would be the first to ensure he found no peace, even in death.

"Silent and guarded as always," she purred, her presence drawing nearer till he could see the hem of her fine floor length robes and slippers. "But I asked you a question. You _will_ answer." Her fingers raked through his fringe. He remained quiet, cringing at her belittling attempt at gentleness; damned either way.

"Look at me," she snapped, her hard thumb and forefinger clamping his chin forcing his face upward.

His jaw clenched at the feel of her thumb nail biting into his lower lip, but slowly his eyes met hers, years of learning to hide his hatred rendering his expression impassive. She, on the other hand, made no attempt to hide her avidity for him - not that she ever did. Her dark fantasies glistened clear in hereyes promising hounded hours to come.

Somehow she stood over him, though it was a physical impossibility given she was near enough his height and scrawny for a human. "It's not my place to judge, Mistress," he answered, keeping his voice low.

Hadriana sneered. "It's not your place to have opinions at all." She released her grip only to trace the lyrium markings over his chin and down his throat. He flinched, instantly cursing his loss of control. It wasn't that being touched was a weakness she was unaware of he'd just presented an open invitation for her to exploit it further. An invitation she gladly accepted. "So, tell me," she began, slowly circling him, deliberately trailing her hand over other exposed areas of his skin, a smile sliding across her features at his discomfort. "Did they play well together? Did Danarius have him writhing in agony before the end?"

Her obvious desire for it to be so made the memory of Riven's enthralled silence even harder to bear.

"What's this?" she asked, pouting miserably. "Silence? Was it really so dull? Poor Danarius, how he must have suffered."

The faintest clatter and shriek suddenly drew Hadriana's attention. One of the remaining slaves had knocked over a goblet of wine. She fumbled with a cloth desperate to mop up whilst her terrified eyes darted frantically between the mess she had made and her sleeping Master. Both Fenris and Hadriana knew it would take more than the sound of spilling glassware to wake him now - not that it mattered.

"You clumsy little fool," Hadriana spat venomously, her magic striking out like a whip to silence the girl's rapid attempt to plead her case. In agony she was knocked to the ground, her cries muted as the continued punishment rained down on her over and over again.

Fenris stood paralysed; his wide eyes illuminated by the foul magic Hadriana cast. He felt the injustice keenly, the rage swelling inside him to a near unbearable level. His hands balled into trembling fists, but strong as his desire was to intercede, to stop the torture, he couldn't move. He was powerless, weak. A coward, no more able to respond for this girl curled and broken on the floor than he had been for Riven. – And yet, even if he were able, somehow ripping Hadriana's heart out wouldn't be enough to satisfy his desire to make her suffer.

Beaten within an inch of her life for spilling some wine the trembling elf was barely able to lift her head when her punishment finally ended. Though testimony to her strength of will that she moved at all it was not fast enough for Hadriana. Her merciless fingers knotted into the elven girl's hair dragging her to her feet; jerking her head back sharply so she could whisper directly into her ear.

"You will find someone capable of doing this errand quickly and silently elf, or Gods preserve you, I will drain you dry and your body can join Riven's in the furnace tonight, am I understood?" The elf nodded with a whimper, tears streaking down her bruised face. Hadriana shoved her toward the door where she crumpled to the floor again, helpless and barely able to crawl out of the room.

Time passed silently as Hadriana paced the width of the chamber. Her hands flexed irritably, clearly longing to lash out with her magic further and every minute or so she would glare at the door waiting on the elven girl's replacement. Her disappointment was almost palpable when another slave eventually appeared. She hawk-eyed the new arrival daring – _hoping_ - for them to put a toe out of line, but when they did not she turned her agitated attentions back to Fenris.

His eyes found the floor again, though not before she had seen too much, his un-checked contempt was clear in his expression.

Unlike everyone else, Hadriana knew exactly what he was capable of though she recovered her composure quickly on receiving such a murderous glare. "Do my methods offend you?" she asked a dangerous edge to her voice.

Fenris didn't respond fearing his voice would crack with the strain of his anger – he was still not in full control.

"Your eyes betray you _slave_," she goaded, stalking toward him, "You claim to have no opinion, but it's a lie isn't it?" Her fingers fisted into his hair this time dragging his face up to look at hers. He didn't attempt to conceal his loathing, he couldn't. "How wilful you've become," she whispered, her excitement clear despite the rebuke. "And yet, perhaps I'm misinterpreting your feelings. Perhaps you're craving the attention yourself? It has undoubtedly been too long for me."

At her words he was consumed in white hot agony. Several daggers ripping into his flesh could not compare to the feel of her magic burning through him. His back arched with the pain, his fingers clawing at the air desperate to find purchase on something… anything. No cry escaped him - there was no mercy to be found in a further show of weakness, only more misery.

This method of torture had always been her favourite. Even after enduring her other perverse pleasures it would always come down to _this_ - this raw, blinding torment awakening in him all the pain of the ritual that had branded the lyrium to him in the first place. Hadriana knew just how to stimulate the latent power of his markings inflicting as much pain as she could over his entire body and never leave a mark on him.

"Do my methods offend you?" she asked again, breathless, leering over him as he collapsed silently to his knees. The pain increased impossibly for an instant and then faded to nothing allowing Fenris time to respond.

"No, Mistress," he gasped, his free arm clutching at his middle as he doubled over, eyes swiftly scanning the now empty room. He'd been left to endure Hadriana's sadism alone - same as always.

"Such a greedy one," she sighed with satisfaction, releasing his hair, "but finally you're at my feet like the _dog_ you are." She stroked her hand down the side of his face and hooked her finger under his chin ready to lift his gaze one last time.

It took a moment for Fenris to register the sudden warmth of the contact. A careful touch replacing one he could only ever recall being hard and cold.

He raised his head, nervous and unsure.

Concern riddled the dark blue eyes that met his.

"Why do you linger here?" Hawke asked searchingly.

Fenris's eyes snapped open.

* * *

><p>AN - Short & sweet.

This was originally just the opening to the next chapter, but it felt too disjointed so I thought to post it separately and get this darn fic updated.

Hope to have the next chapter to you for next weekend. (Fingers-crossed)

Special thanks to NoMadka for tracking me down on Deviant Art and asking me when I was updating? ;-)

And to all those of you who have still found the will to fav and alert this during the lull.

It's not beta'd again. :-( I've done my best and no doubt I'll have to alter some bits after posting, but I suspect you're all familiar with my many foibles by now. Anything glaring, however, please let me know.


	6. Penchant for Violence (Part 1)

Moments in Time – Brief Encounters

Penchant for Violence (Part1)

Hawke sat watching the sun set, her legs stretched out and ankles crossed, arms folded over her chest against the evening chill. She'd been here for hours, hidden off some adjoining path between the Alienage and the long stair to the Docks, willing the storm in her mind to clear with little success.

It was a surprisingly unimpeded view; possible to see the Wounded Coast and the surrounding mountains stretch far beyond the soaring city walls. Still, for all their beauty, her attentions could not be kept from The Gallows looming dark and terrible out in the distant waters.

She had found herself here many times over the past few months, almost craving the ominous sight. Before today it had always managed to help alter her perspective on life's troubles. Perhaps because she possessed enough empathy to imagine what it was like for those looking back from that terrifying place, viewing Kirkwall and the world beyond the Circle's restraints with hopeless longing, or worse, no feeling at all.

_What are my troubles in comparison to _that_? _Hawke wondered, remembering the few Tranquil she'd ever met. _Aren't I free?_

She shuddered. _It didn't always feel so._

* * *

><p>"<em>You can't be serious, I don't believe this! Does family loyalty mean nothing to you?"<em>

_Hawke's fingers clenched so tightly around the rim of the cook pot her knuckles turned white. "Loyalty?" she asked in disbelief, glaring down into the beef stew. "Carver, what part of family loyalty covers dragging you into the Deep Roads and putting you in harm's way?"_

_Thankfully the house was empty, apart from Carver, herself and Juno. This argument could never have taken place in front of their mother._

"_It's hardly dragging if I'm choosing to go willingly, and I do," Carver ranted, coming to stand next to her._

_Hawke screwed her eyes shut tight. This discussion had gone on long enough. For weeks she had worried what his reaction would be, but she knew Carver well enough to know how inevitable this all was, and how bloody pointless. The decision was hers and it had been made. _

"_I can't," she declared, "I won't. I refuse to put mother through that."_

"_Just listen to yourself," Carver bawled, "self-righteous, Marian. Like you give a damn what mother or anyone else thinks. If you did you'd have shown some damned guilt for the choices you've already made."_

_That was too much for Hawke to take. _

"_Like what?" she snapped, glaring up at her younger brother with all the frustration and anger she normally tempered. He retreated, lost for words, realising too late that he had pushed her too far. "Come on, tell me!" she demanded, stalking toward him, magic sparking at her fingertips "Tell me these things I apparently care nothing about." _

_Hawke found the will to pause as Carver backed into the table and chairs, his hands raised, placating. "Well?" she asked with contempt._

_He stammered over a response, still taken aback by her sudden wrath. If she'd had a mind to care she would have been ashamed to see him cower, but after suffering his malignancy for so long a darker part of her psyche found it quite satisfying for him to know just how much he infuriated her to death. _

"_Do you think I enjoy having you cower behind me, constantly forcing my hand, blaming me? Do you think you hold the monopoly on loss? She was my sister too!"_

_Instantly Carver's growing fear was dispelled. His jaw clenched as his own anger resurfaced with the mention of Beth. They glared at each other, no amount of time lessening the others heated resolve. _

"_No shadow I cast is big enough for you to hide in anymore," Hawke said finally, her voice strained as her anger threatened to give way to tears. "From now on make your own decisions. I'll have no part in them. Clearly, that is what you want." She turned away from him, heading back to the stove - not seeing the hurt that cut across his features as she verbally severed the ties between them. "I do promise you this though," she continued dangerously, not looking at Carver again, "Put yourself in harm's way with some fool notion of tracking the expedition and I will send you home bound, gagged and concussed for a month. You know I will."_

_His heavy stride brought him back to her and he leaned forward speaking directly into the side of her face. "I have no need of your expedition; I have no need of you, _Sister_." With that, Carver slammed out of the house leaving Hawke's anger to peak so intensely she barely controlled the furious desire to overturn the large cook pot. Instead, she crushed the heel of her hand to her face willing the onslaught of traitor tears away._

* * *

><p>With a heavy sigh, Hawke returned to the present and attempted to let the lingering animosity toward her earlier fight with Carver go - a difficult task. The walk <em>had<em> helped. The fresh air clearing her head; allowing her to rationalise what she could live with - namely, Carver's continued rivalry - and bury what she couldn't. In those seconds after he'd left her standing alone in that 'hole' their uncle called a house, though… Maker, the pain of it all had been unbearable.

It was more than just her decision to leave Carver out of the expedition. It was everything. Everything the last year and a half had demanded of her, testing her morality to the extreme. Emotionally exhausted, Hawke had slumped to the floor, buried her head in her hands and cried, allowing herself that moment to be overwhelmed by the burden of leadership thrust upon her.

Juno had been there in the same instant nudging her shoulder comfortingly till she'd looked at him, her eyes red and stinging. _'At least, I told him_,' she remembered saying, before hugging her mabari friend, fiercely. In truth, the lifting of _that _particular weighty burden had been a small comfort given the on-going trials of the last few days.

It had been nearly a week since they'd returned from Sundermount, a week in which Hawke had found trade to be impossible. The more prosperous Hightown merchants she regularly dealt with, who had always been intrigued by the artefacts she collected on her travels and could afford to pay a premium, were suddenly no longer interested in her patronage.

At first she hadn't thought much to it. Losing favour with one trader was understandable. Two? A possibility, but by the end of the second day it had been all of them. It was a devastating blow, one without justification. Something was very wrong, and neither Hawke's nor Varric's attempts to discover what it was proved to bear more fruit than some pretty acerbic remarks.

When Hawke's patience had been finally pushed to the brink as a result, guards were summoned, though she'd done little more than slam her hand down on a merchant's counter top. For that, she'd been forcibly removed from the market and dumped unceremoniously on the steps to Lowtown. The guards waited for her to leave, eyeing her with contempt, and she, them, in return, dangerously close to doing something brash to wipe the 'holier than thou' expression off their faces. She could only imagine what Aveline would have made of it if she had - easily envisioning her long-time friend, marching her off to the Gallows without a second's hesitation.

_It would never happen, _she thought, certainly._ Aveline might feel like it sometimes, but it would never happen. _

Having not wanted to jeopardise her friend's career with reckless 'mage' behaviour, Hawke had gathered what was left of her pride and fled back to The Hanged Man. Once safely entrenched in Varric's suite, however, the full irritation she felt exploded out of her and she cursed her life's luck till she was black in the face. Varric found her there a short while later, having thrown herself into one of his massive stone chairs, staring murderously into empty space. He was obviously concerned, but promised to continue his enquiries alone after advising Hawke to keep her head down for the time being. That had been three days ago.

Clearly the fates or someone closer to home was trying to send her a message. The question still remained who and why?

_It's not as if I'm spoilt for choice or anything_, she thought wryly, knowing full well how many enemies she had accumulated over the year she'd worked for Athenril – not to mention, since.

To make matters worse, unwilling as she was to approach the Coterie's fences – her last resort, especially after her past dealings with Harlan - the scarcity of coin was making not only funding for the exhibition tight, but also pulling together payment for the others very difficult as well. Her word evidently meant so little to Fenris though, that Hawke had wondered whether he would even be surprised by the fact she hadn't trundled up to Hightown with his promised coin yet.

She almost laughed at how easily her frustrated mind led her back to that_ damn elf._

Her epiphany over his fear of magic and the resulting compassion she'd felt toward him had been short-lived on the journey back to Kirkwall. It certainly hadn't taken long for Fenris's loathing of her to become apparent again, gratitude for healing his arm lasting all of five minutes – five minutes where he ignored her entirely.

After that his mistrust only seemed to intensify, if it were possible.

She'd caught him glowering at her several times as she conversed with Merrill about Alienage life, sincerely wishing she hadn't, but his withering gaze proved impossible to ignore. It left her nerves on edge, coiling tighter and tighter inside her chest till finally she couldn't bear the tension of it any longer and had turned to confront him only to find him gone. She had been more than a little baffled to find herself back in Kirkwall at that same moment, looking up at the towering city walls with no immediate memory of how she'd gotten there. It was clear her mind had been far too pre-occupied.

There was only so long Hawke could sit stewing over past events with the night drawing in around her. Her aching, empty stomach finally forced her to take note of the hour and the beef stew she'd left waiting at home. It was startling to realise she couldn't recall the last decent meal she'd had. So, with one last look to the Gallows, Hawke re-emerged onto the darkened streets of Lowtown.

It wasn't a long walk back to Gamlen's, but it was a quiet one. She hoped Juno had found Carver by now and was watching over him as she'd asked him to. Familiar as these streets were, it was still full dark and the barren nature of them at this time of day always made her uneasy. As such, she was very grateful to reach the foot of the steps to her uncle's home, but on rounding the corner stopped abruptly to be confronted by an armed and hooded figure leaning casually in the lengthening shadows midway up the stairs.

"Evening, Hawke."

Even if she hadn't recognised the figure straightaway, there was no mistaking that grating voice.

"Iran," she muttered in acknowledgement.

"Out for an evening constitutional?" he asked, his one eye catching the light as he smiled down at her.

Hawke remained poised at the foot of the stairs, not relaxing her position; her troubled week, starting to make horrifying sense.

"Something like that," she replied, finding the notion of polite banter between them more than a little unsettling.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," he jested. To anyone listening it would have sounded like they were old friends and he hadn't been the Coterie's lethal response to her dealings with Athenril.

Attempting to keep her tone light, Hawke said, "I'm game if you are," and managed a small smile in return though she meant every word.

"Always the witty reply," said Iran, wagging his finger at her as he pushed away from the wall. The darkness clung to him like a shroud. "How is Athenril these days?" he asked casually.

"I wouldn't know."

"Ah, yes, that's right, I'd heard you'd quit," he smirked, seeming to find the idea amusing. "Bet that went down well. Why all alone? Not that I'm complaining."

"A good question, one I'd consider asking yourself before you make any rash assumptions, Iran."

Sniggering broke out then as many others made themselves known in the dark corners of the wide square behind her. She was surrounded, _her home_ was surrounded; she should have known he'd never choose to face her alone, though he was undoubtedly able.

"Ah, yeah, the '_mage'_ thing," Iran shrugged, ambling down the steps toward her. "Well, considering our numbers," he waved his hand absently toward his assembled men, "I think I'm willing to take the chance of a little one to one. I've missed our confrontations."

He stopped on the step above her, his long fingers toying with the hilt of the dagger at his hip, till with a near invisible flick of the wrist he had the thin blade at Hawke's throat. Iran was the most adept rogue she had ever known - bar maybe Isabela. A rumoured candidate for the Antivan Crows back in the day, and though Hawke took little stock in idle gossip, she knew from her own experience he was a man without conscience; capable of anything. Clearly Harlan had decided it time to let him off the leash. It had been a fragile peace - while it lasted.

"Plus, even mages can't come back from a slice ear to ear can they?" Iran ran through the motion of slitting her throat as he spoke - clearly relishing the idea - the dagger point a hairsbreadth from her skin. "I know you need time to cast. You won't get it," he promised.

"What do you want, Iran?" Hawke asked, trying to keep her voice calm despite knowing how heavily the odds of a confrontation were stacked against her.

He brought his face closer, "Right now, I want you to move. Let's talk somewhere a little less… residential," he said, the note of her having no choice in the matter, evident.

"You want to 'talk'? Talk here," she demanded, having no intention of moving.

Iran was not to be challenged. "Devy, Imple," he called out to his waiting men, though his eyes never left Hawke's as he gauged her reaction to the sight of the two enormous Coterie thugs emerging from the shadows. They were so alike in appearance they had to be brothers, each wielding an enormous maul as long as Hawke was tall, she was sure. "See that Hawke's mother is comfortable while we remain here for a chat, eh?"

Hawke knew she was being goaded; she didn't even know if her mother was home, but the simple chance that she might be was enough. Lightning crackled to life in her palm and without a care for the blade Iran had to her throat she grabbed his wrist, yanking him down the step viciously and propelling him toward an outraged Devy and Imple as they came forward. She watched Iran fall, she knew she had injured him from his brief cry of pain, but he never materialised at the bottom of the steps, the shadows consuming him before he ever hit the floor.

_Damn rogues to the Void,_ Hawke cursed mentally, drawing her staff and trying to ready herself for the coming onslaught as the rest of Iran's men rushed out from cover. Before she could even begin to muster her will in earnest though, two hands appeared, reaching round from behind to grab her staff and wrench it against her chest, pinning her to whoever was suddenly at her back.

"I knew I'd get your attention eventually," Iran whispered in her ear, "now move!" His knee pummelled into the small of Hawke's back as he released her; ripping her staff from her grip as she fell forward into the street. "Devy!" he called, tossing her staff over to him. She was terrified the huge Coterie thug was about to break it in half. It would have been an easy task for him, even with the rivulets of steel worked into the shaft. Thankfully, the fool seemed more intent on mocking her further, brandishing it about clumsily before pretending to shoot her with it, much to his fellow thug's amusement.

"I could show you how it really works, if you'd like?" Hawke suggested, getting to her feet. Something in her venomous expression wiped the grin off Devy's face.

Considering their numbers, Iran's group moved near silently through the streets, following some predestined route that swiftly led down side alleys Hawke was little familiar with. Eventually they came to a circular dead end of high, windowless walls, too high for the moonlight to provide any illumination. Her feet found a large solitary drain sunk into the centre of the stone paved floor and old rusted chains clung desperately to the weathered stone all about them. Historically, Hawke dreaded to think what this space had been used for, then realised it was probably not entirely different from its current usage - buried in the heart of Coterie territory with only the one way out, no chance of witnesses and no chance of escape. Maker, she was in serious trouble.

"So," she began, turning to face Iran as his men spread out around her. "I assume I have you to thank for the trade issues?"

"You've been pissing people off, Hawke," Iran replied, "stepping on too many toes with your so-called business affairs. It was bad enough before, but now?" He tutted and shook his head. "We've come here to… put you in your place. 'Powers-that-be' weren't too specific as to how."

"And you want to do this now? I've had a rough day."

"Brave words, but bull-shit and bravado won't get you off the hook. We'll do our bit. That just leaves the matter of how unscathed you'll be when you walk away from here."

"It's agreed I'll be walking then?" Hawke asked, her sarcasm the only thing keeping a reign on her anger and trepidation. The likelihood of her 'walking' anywhere after this was remote, but she was damned sure she was going to do some serious damage before they took her down. She scanned the assembled Coterie, locating her staff amongst them and began strategizing 'who first' – not that it would make much difference. She'd act instinctively as she always did when the fight for survival took over.

"Two weeks ago, Athenril passed you some information about a dwarf wanting to move lyrium topside." Hawke had been barely listening till that second. "Nice job. Except it turned out that there was no lyrium, was there? The job was merely to draw out some Imperium dogs hunting down a wealthy Magister's lost property."

_Maker, no!_ "I have no idea what you're talking about," Hawke lied.

"We know you found whatever it was, there's no use denying it," Iran said. "If you want to stand a chance of walking away tonight all you have to do is hand it over."

It appeared for the Coterie's information gathering, they didn't know what, or more precisely, who the 'lost property' was. To be sure, Hawke tried to clarify. "You think I'd be carrying it around with me?" she asked, watching Iran's response closely, though she could barely make him out under his deep hood.

"Something so valuable wouldn't be far from your person. You would have fenced it by now - if you'd been able."

Appeased that Fenris was safe for the time being, Hawke desperately tried to formulate some kind of plan. She needed the opportunity to live through this, to find out just how much the Coterie knew of Danarius.

"So?" Iran prompted after a brief pause.

"It's well hidden. I'm the only one who knows where," she confessed.

"'Course you are. You'd best tell us."

She seriously debated it, too, but only because she felt it would be like sending 'pigeons to the cat'. This was not Fenris's fight, though. This was personal. She'd always known Iran would come after her someday. He was just one of many things from the past that refused to stay there.

"And if I don't, what then?" she asked brusquely. "You can't kill me if you plan to get the information you want."

"No," Iran replied, and she could hear his mirth and imagined the smile she couldn't see spread across his face, "but we can have fun extracting it. _And_ I'm sure we can get inventive if you're tough enough not to break. Perhaps we could work over that brother of yours, or maybe your mother?"

"Go anywhere near them, and I swear to the Maker, Iran…" Hawke began, bristling with anger.

"I told you she was feisty," Iran laughed to his fellows. "Hawke here has quite a reputation, but you're out of choices," he added, his tone falling to something entirely sinister as he looked back at her.

"How about I bring it to you, tomorrow night?" she asked, stalling for time.

"_Bring it_?" he repeated, incredulously. "Do you think I'm a complete back-birth?"

"Well you've ensured I can't fence it, and you know I won't run. Name the place."

She could sense Iran's suspicion before he launched himself toward her, grasping her throat and forcing her back several steps till her back met the wall. "Could you really give it up so easily?" he asked quietly, searching her face with his one glistening eye and holding his dagger close by, "I'd hoped for—"

"An eye for an eye?" Hawke offered, gasping around the grip of his fingers.

"Well, it seems only fair. It _was my favourite_ eye," he replied, threateningly, his dagger edging closer still as he contemplated doing what he evidently wished to. Abruptly, he released her. Revenge not the highest priority on his list, but that knowledge only increased Hawke's concern as to what was. "Eastern Warehouse District, the dock adjoining Smetty's Fish Guttery, after dark."

"I know the place," she confirmed, rubbing her neck.

"Come alone with the goods, Hawke, or I'll personally show the rest of your family to the Void myself – not to mention handing what's left of you to The Gallows. I'm sure they wouldn't begrudge me the pitiful state you'd be in. Probably be all the easier to make you Tranquil that way." He turned away at that, heading back out the ally with half his men in tow. The other half, she noted, did not follow him.

"Tell me, Iran," she said to his back, "when did Harlan become an Imperium Magister's lackey?" He paused, thoughtful for a moment before he looked back at her. Something in the gesture told her she was missing the obvious. "It's not Harlan, is it?" she realised. "He doesn't know about this little job you're running on the side."

"Everything's for sale, Hawke. Everyone is fair game, even Harlan. He knows that better than anyone, and a powerful Magister's support? Well, that's just a bonus." There was only one thing Hawke could deduce from that. Danarius was potentially still in the city, having found Coterie mercenaries to replace his slavers, and if not, Iran most likely knew where he was holed up instead. "Make sure she's at least able to 'crawl' out of here," he told Imple in passing.

"With pleasure," Imple grinned, cracking his knuckles savagely.

Iran turned back briefly before disappearing out of sight. "'Till tomorrow, Hawke," he called, and spread his arms gesturing to those many hands he was leaving her in. "I bid you a pleasant evening."

With Iran gone, Hawke focussed her attentions back on the men he had left 'to put her in her place'. There seemed to be more than she'd first realised, unless the tight knot of fear in her heart was somehow responsible for them multiplying.

"Devy, get the lights. Let's have a proper look at what we're dealing with."

Torches were lit with Imple's command and mounted onto the walls at the Coterie's backs, throwing each figure into silhouette and casting an array of chaotic, shadows about the space.

"Not much to her," Devy said, appraising Hawke as he came to stand next to Imple again.

"Yeah," Imple agreed, grinning evilly as Hawke glowered back at them. "Hard to believe why Iran suggested this many of us would be necessary. I could snap her like a twig."

"Shame really. I'd been hoping for a bit more…" Devy's explanation hung as he gestured with his hands in front of his chest, cupping huge, imaginary breasts. More sniggering from the surrounding group followed that assessment.

"It's hard to judge really. Who knows what's hidden beneath all those baggy layers," Imple suggested, looking over her attire. "If she's a disappointment, we've still got the mother to have look in on, haven't we?"

If Hawke wasn't seething before, she saw red now.

"Try it," she snarled, pulling her concealed dagger from her thigh and throwing it with startling precision straight at Imple's stunned face. It sunk into his left eye leaving him to fall back with an agonising scream and thrash around on the floor clutching his head.

"Imple!" Devy shouted, kneeling down to try and aid him - a futile effort. Hawke was the only one present capable of helping and she was content to look on with cold, resolute eyes as Imple's involuntary thrashing slowly ceased.

Seconds passed in silence. Imple's men, stunned, immobile, never expecting any resistance from this one, insignificant mage, didn't know how to respond and now Hawke took advantage of their momentary indecision. They had brought her here to beat her senseless and rape her, with no fear of witnesses. That same strategy now worked in her favour, too. She was at liberty to unleash her full arsenal without fearing any repercussions. All those times she had quashed her aggression, reeled in her powers, she harnessed that anger now. These fools had no idea what an apostate was, but they soon would. She drew upon her Maker given power, pulling strand after strand of raw magic through the Veil, binding it to her will till her eyes glowed, burning with the intensity of what she had stored.

"Andraste's tits!" one of them cursed with a shout, realising what was happening.

"You idiots!" Devy yelled, clearly panic stricken as he looked up from Imple's dead body. "Don't give her time to cast!"

The world descended into chaos as the thugs surged forward. Their curses and cries rung in Hawke's ears as she met them head on, releasing a powerful telekinetic blast and scattering those nearest to her into the surrounding walls.

With her focus purely intent on reaching her staff she hadn't been totally aware of how close she had gotten to Devy till he reared up in front of her, maul in hand, raging like an angry bear. She jumped out of the path of one massive swing, and then another as the maul came hammering down into the ground at her feet crumbling the stone pave to dust. Before Devy had time to right himself she rolled over his back booting another Coterie thug in the jaw as she went; spreading his face in a spray of blood and teeth.

Devy's roar at her heels only succeeded in fuelling her sprint as she barrelled through those few standing between her and her staff, obliterating them with a well-timed bolt of lightning.

Her fingers coiled tightly around the familiar shaft; enjoying the comfort it granted her for a split second before she spun to face the advancing line. Scything her staff through the air Hawke skewered several Coterie with a wave of massive icicles. The icy barrier succeeded in splitting the circular space in two separating her and the few who slipped through the formation from Devy who began manically hammering at the far side.

So confined, she was forced into hand to hand, parrying between her assailants and expertly countering each of their strikes. Side stepping a blade thrust she pommelled the end of her staff into the Coterie's back aiding his momentum as he tumbled passed and impaled himself on a fellow's sword. Even as _this other_ Coterie made to pull his blade free, Hawke spun to catch him about the neck with her shaft blade splitting his jugular and holding him just long enough to shield her from a peppering of arrows. The archer responsible for the spray went down next, another bolt of lightning aimed to the face left him convulsing in a heap on the floor.

One Coterie thug remained standing within this half space she had created and she returned his black look as they circled one another, breathless, each gathering their reserves. Like lightning he sprang into action, sparks dancing off the steel edges of the two svelte blades he hacked and sliced toward her with astonishing speed. Her footing was sorely tested as she reacted defensively, blocking each attack till finally she found the opening she sort. Ducking low, she swiped his legs out from under him and hammered her staff axe end down into his abdomen.

Devy smashed through the ice at that same moment catching Hawke off balance as she dragged her staff back up in an attempt to deflect the monster blow. She wasn't fast enough and the glancing impact of the maul sent her flying. She hit the stone floor hard, rolling uncontrollably till she smacked into the wall.

Everything went black.

Hawke blinked profusely. The world spun as she struggled to focus on the armoured feet pounding toward her.

Everything went black again.

"_I'm going to make you pay for this bitch!"_

Hawke saw Devy towering over her, his maul raised above him ready to bring it down and crush the life from her. Suddenly his face contorted grotesquely, thrown back in a silent scream of agony. Hawke could only watch in mute horror as the maul slipped from his slack grip and hit the ground beside her, narrowly missing her head. He slumped to his knees before falling sideways, blood pouring from every orifice.

Dazed and utterly terrified, Hawke looked up to see Fenris looming over her, his entire form glowing so intensely it hurt her eyes to behold him. He reached down, grabbing her by the scruff of the neck and hauled her to her feet; showing no signs of standing down with his phased fist drawn back ready. It looked like he'd killed Devy just to have the pleasure of killing her himself.

"Fenris?" Hawke gasped, certain she was about to die. His hollow glare was haunting.

"Are you a Dreamer?" he asked darkly.

* * *

><p><strong>AN** - First part of a potential 3 part chapter if it continues as it has, there's a fair bit to cover. The previous 'Dream' chapter had been cut from the beginning of this one, but as I think I previously mentioned it started to feel a little too disjointed to me left as one.

I feel this chapter is now a bit like DLC, an extra quest that gives an inkling into the year my Hawke worked for Athenril and in direct competition with the Coterie. In my mind there was no way the Coterie (who have eyes and ears on everything) would not know about some details relating to the Bait & Switch quest, even if they might be unaware that the Magister's lost property is in fact a slave and not some valuable artefact.

Still unbeta'd, but hopefully enjoyable.


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